


Leaf Green

by CrazyCase5150



Series: ADSOM Canon Ended Sadly, Here's Gays [1]
Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Attempted Suicide, But she throws a fit, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Fluff, Holland has PTSD, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kell has depression, LGBTQ Character(s) of Color, Lila does too, M/M, Multi, Night Terrors, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Rhy makes an appearance, This all happens way later, Trauma, Watching Someone Sleep, but I can't stop, but it happens trust me, there are too many tags here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 36,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyCase5150/pseuds/CrazyCase5150
Summary: Holland, for the second time, didn't stay dead, and neither did Ojka.But Holland has long since lost the will to live, so against his orders, Ojka - caring about him -  reluctantly goes to find Kell.Holland and Kell are reunited and start living together to keep the other from falling into the horrible depths of their own mind, and when trauma and stifled emotions press at both their surfaces, what unvoiced confessions will they struggle to keep down?Basically, I just continued the story after Kell got on the boat with Lila.
Relationships: Alucard Emery/Rhy Maresh, Kell Maresh/Holland Vosijk, Ojka/Original Female Character
Series: ADSOM Canon Ended Sadly, Here's Gays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001994
Comments: 81
Kudos: 31





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> FYI:  
> Emotional roller coaster warning! This shit gets real sad, as the whole point is these two getting over their trauma, and then it gets fluffy (and later on, smutty), because it's a shipping book. Lots of ups and downs.  
> There will be smut, of which I will warn you at the start of the chapter.  
> There will be other trigger warnings for other triggering content, and I mean TRIGGERING content. Check the tags.  
> There are some _dark_ topics in here, and I feel y'all should know that before you get too invested.
> 
> Holland is 38 at this point (he had his birthday when Osarolland was in Maktahn London).  
> Kell is technically 21, but since he bought the _Antari_ binding rings, he's 24.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you are given exposition
> 
> The writing for this chapter is utter shit no matter how many times I try to write it, so please forgive me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmkm90ukdCI  
> Untitled by EDEN

Ojka gasped.

She sat bolt upright, and immediately grabbed the knife at her side, looking around.

Well, that was odd.

She had woken up in the crimson London. In some kind of empty ditch. How had she gotten here?

The last thing she remembered was being killed in the throne room. Her body felt strange, stiff and wrung out all at once, and she reached up to feel at her neck. No blood. Smooth.

Well, smooth aside from a light protrusion. She lifted her knife and examined the line in the reflection, and stared. A black scar covered where her throat had been slit by that Bard girl. She glared at the line, but Ojka knew when she had been beaten. The girl had been something, that was for sure. She’d won out of sheer luck. How was Ojka supposed to know that her eye had been fake? She should have gone for the other one.

It didn’t matter.

Why was she here?

This was the lazy world. The one that was thick with magic. How had she gotten to this place?

That didn’t matter either. She had to find Holland.

She grazed her arm with the blade and stiffly got to her feet. If she had come back from the dead, she’d been dead for days. Anything could have happened.

She climbed out and pressed her bloody hand to the nearest tree. _“As Travars,”_ she managed, her voice cracked and dry.

She felt the magic immediately, and she knew something was wrong.

It didn’t feel like Holland’s power. Oddly enough, it felt healthier. This wasn’t the King’s doing. The magic from him had been like syrup, thick and heady and filling. This was like water, messy and unruly, but also natural and probably better in the long run.

Something had changed.

Ojka ran through the streets of the city to find Holland.

After his apparent absence, she knew that people would come looking for him. Magic might be trickling back, but Holland had still made enemies as either an _Antari_ or while he was under the control of the Danes. Ojka knew this.

So when she found Holland sitting in the Silver Wood on the bank of a stream that branched off of the Sijlt, his black hair white, his black eye gone and with it all traces of the power he had practically been leaking before, she panicked. Ojka might have been strong, but she wouldn’t be powerful enough to protect him, especially when magic was coming back slowly to everyone.

But if the King had no traces of magic left, she could spirit him away. She could take him to the cabin.

She had grown up in a dangerous and poor area of London, so he had anointed Ojka as his knight because she knew how to kill things, and knew how to do so efficiently. And as thanks for her loyalty during Holland’s reign as King, he’d let her hunt down her mother. The woman was always drunk, violent, and stupid. She'd found her in a cabin in the country with a bottle in her hand, passed out on the floor. Ojka had stuck a knife in her chest without a second thought. It was less of a cabin and more of a house, really, since it had two floors, but... 

Now the place was empty.

Now she had somewhere to hide Holland.

After much convincing, he agreed to go with her. She knew he loved his city, and she knew he’d hate to leave it, but she couldn't keep him safe there. He hated it, but she managed to gather his things from the castle with help from Nasi, a young girl who Ojka had helped give confidence to. 

When they arrived at the dark wooden house, Holland frowned. “Is this absolutely necessary?”

“Yes,” she grumbled, and pushed open the door.

He had been complaining to her that he didn’t have to leave, and she had been insisting that he did or he’d be killed. She said as much to him now.

“I don’t care if I die!” Holland didn’t frequently raise his voice, so she was startled, but she pushed him inside anyway. 

“Sire, I understand that you don’t care for your well being at the moment, but I am still devoted to you and am acting in your best interests. You will be safe here, so just let me do this for you.”

Holland said nothing, only slumped into the closest seat and ran a hand through his strangely all white hair.

A week later, after Ojka had forced him to tell her everything she had missed, Holland had only gotten worse. He barely ate, he hardly slept, and he didn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then not much.

“Sire-”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Holland. You’re losing yourself. Please give me permission to-”

“No.”

“I-”

“You cannot go get him. Stay away from that London, stay away from him. He won’t come anyway. Just leave me be.”

********

Rhy’s POV

Lila had kicked Kell off. Rhy couldn’t believe it. He was still mourning the first other _Antari_ he had ever known, and Lila had told him that she couldn’t deal with his sulking. She’d sailed back into Red London and just left him there on the docs.

It had only been a month after Holland died when she’d told Kell she was sending him back to Rhy. Rhy had been livid. Who did she think she was? What gave her the right to determine how long someone was allowed to mourn?

After three days of Kell moping around his rooms, to alleviate his fury, Rhy had told Kell that he still needed to go see the world, and playfully said that he was no longer welcome in Red London. 

“Fine! Nobody wants me with them anymore, I’ll just leave!” Kell had shouted. Thankfully, the exchange had been in Rhy’s private chambers instead of the throne room, but Rhy still stared at him, hurt. 

“Kell, I was kidding-”

“I don’t care! Lila just discarded me like a scrap of old paper because I’m depressed, and there’s too many bad memories here. I’m going out to the farm.”

Rhy pursed his lips. The farm was where Kell and Rhy had planned on going after Rhy’s twentieth birthday, but so much had happened that they hadn’t been able to. It was a short boat ride away from London’s island to a smaller one a few miles away. Rhy knew better than to try to talk Kell out of it, so he silently helped him pack.


	2. A Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kell is clothed and Ojka is not dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2APLh8_ExU0  
> Home by Cavetown
> 
> The lyrics to this one really speak to Kell and Holland, if you listen to them. The intro and verse one is Kell, verse two is Holland, the chorus is both, and the bridge alternates.  
> https://genius.com/Cavetown-home-lyrics

He'd actually bothered to put clothes on today. 

Kell was wearing thin dark grey trousers with blue lining, a blue tunic, and his coat was currently very large and very grey. It’s buttons presently were blue. Kell’s coat had many sides, and when he turned it inside out it changed into a different one. 

(Even when Kell didn’t have appropriate attire, he always had his knife, the only remnant of his early erased childhood - the initials K. L. carved into it creating his name - strapped to his inner arm. He even occasionally slept with it.)

Recently, he wore pretty much what you’d expect a depressed man in his early twenties to wear when he was living alone. Probably underthings and maybe a shirt, but not often pants and definitely not a coat, not way out here in the country where it was warm. He had been planning to go to the market a couple miles away, but his schedule went out the window and his plans for the next month changed when someone walked through his wall.

It was a good thing he had clothes on, because of all the people he might have expected to come looking for him after he’d left, Ojka was not one of them. _A dead person_ was not one of them.

Was he dreaming? 

No. Dreams weren’t this vivid.

She stepped through the wall, looking disoriented. Her grey clothes were slightly worn and crumpled, her short, bright red hair was mildly frizzy, as if she had been distressed before stepping through, and her eyes - both the yellow and solid inky black - were tired. Travel between worlds was difficult, so he couldn’t really blame her for that. 

What he could blame her for was getting him tortured and almost killed, and in that same breath, almost getting Rhy killed. Rhy was Kell’s adopted brother, but they were closer than even most biological siblings were. Rhy had died, so Kell had used forbidden magic to tie their lives together. So long as Kell lived, so did Rhy. There were setbacks, but it was worth it in the end. However, when Ojka had tricked Kell into going to White London, a land full of power hungry lunatics, he’d almost died, and Rhy with him. Kell had blown up when he’d moved out here, but he still loved his brother. 

Ojka was not welcome. Kell flicked his knife out of his sleeve.

“What are you doing in my house? Why are you this… Alive?” He was horrified; this woman was supposed to be dead, but he couldn’t show how unnerved he was.

She shook off her fatigue, running her hands through her bangs and pressing her palms to her eyes. “Why so tense, _Antari?”_ Her Maktahn accent was thick.

“I thought Lila killed you. We killed you. You got possessed, and then your body went through so many hits during the fight that you couldn’t have survived at all. You _burned._ Are you here to get back at us?” He pointed the knife accusingly.

“She did,” Ojka said, scowling. “Calm yourself, _Antari._ She beat me fair, and I don’t remember any of what happened after that. I have no vengeance on my mind. I come to you asking for help.” She raised her hands and turned around slowly, showing that she was weaponless.

“Last time you came to me asking for help, I wound up getting tortured and my brother ended up dead.” Kell pressed his blade to his palm threateningly. “What do you really want?”

She took a deep breath. “He’s alive.”

Kell knew who she meant, and lowered his knife slightly. “What? I… How?”

“I believe the same reason I came back. I believe everyone who was controlled by the demon and was killed because of it, revived.”

“That’s… impossible,” Kell managed, dropping his arm completely.

“And yet here I stand.” She stepped closer. “He stands too. He woke at the river where you left him. We knew people would come looking, so we fled from the city just as you have.”

Kell took a step back. “How do you know that’s where I left him?”

She gave him a dry look. “You want more proof I’m not lying? His hair is white, his black eye is gone, and he-” After a moment of his staring, she stopped. “Look, the thing is, his power is gone. The stories of the someday king require a sacrifice in order to bring life back to the world. His sacrifice was his life and magic. As his life slipped away, his magic went with it. Some unknown force brought him back, and now he is powerless. He is no longer dying, but...”

Kell’s head buzzed. Holland was _alive._ And also entirely without power. Now he was alive, but wasn’t dying either. Ojka was right. The people from the city would have come for him. And with either positive or negative intent, Holland would have hated it.

Ojka let him absorb the information before asking, “Do you know what he does?” Kell shook his head, and she continued. “He does nothing. He sits, and stares at fixed points in the air, he hardly eats, and on the occasion he sleeps, he has nightmares, and… and he cries.”

“Holland. Crying.” He backed up to lean on the wall.

Ojka nodded, looking uncomfortable. “It is… disturbing. Do you see my point?”

His mind reeled, and he slid down the wall to sit on the floor, setting his knife beside himself. “Why are you still loyal to him? He’s no longer _Antari_ , and no longer the King.”

She frowned. “He… I don’t know. His death revived our London, so that counts for something.”

“Wait, White London is...”

She nodded. “Yes. That’s what his sacrifice did. It’s strange, but we’re adjusting.”

Kell was revered by Red London, as he was their _Antari,_ and he had constantly protected Rhy. He was powerful, but Holland had always been stronger. With the stone, with reflexes, with will, with just about everything. Holland, alive again and still without power was a hard subject to wrap his head around. He’d been without power and his life had been slowly slipping away when Kell had brought him back to White, so his death was apparently the final step. But he was alive again, and apparently showed no signs of dying again. Whatever had brought him back must have decided that he could still bring life back to his city, on the terms that he wasn’t allowed to have any power himself.

Kell bit his lip. “Alright, fine. He’s alive. But what do you want me to do about it? I’ve basically killed him twice, and he hates me anyway. What do you want me to do?”

“You know him better than I do.” The words sounded bitter, but she continued. “You’ve known him longer. I can barely get him to eat, and he stares at the stupid coin every day.”

What coi-

Oh.

The _coin._

_Sanct,_ Kell thought. 

The coin he left for Holland on the chance he wanted to come back. On the chance he could. And now he was without power, and without power, he was unable to use it. Kell frowned. “Why does he keep it?” Holland, being Holland, would have thought the coin was an insult or a taunt.

She gritted her teeth. “He once tried to come here. To the crimson world.” Before Kell could ask what she meant, Ojka held up a hand. “I was eavesdropping. He mumbles things to himself when he thinks I’m not there, which is concerning on its own, but I saw him standing there with the coin in one hand and a bleeding palm against the wall in another. He noticed me and scowled. He refused to explain, and said nothing more for the rest of the day.” She was digging into her arms with her fingernails and glaring at the floor. “He didn’t want me to come here, but he tried to himself. He could have died.”

Kell looked down at his lap. “It makes no sense. It’s Holland, Ojka. He hates it here. He hates the color of the river, how content the people are, he hates... me.”

“Are you certain?” 

He glanced up, and saw Ojka staring at him with her mismatched eyes. The gaze was intense, and it drew an answer out of him before he even knew he had opened his mouth. “Yes. He bled me out on the street while hunting _Vitari.”_

“But did he kill you?” She sat down next to him.

Kell chewed his lip. “No, but still, he-”

Ojka cut him off. “He very well could have. You know this. Instead, he was taking away your ability to follow him. He was not killing you, he was making sure he would not have to. He was just draining you of enough blood that you’d have to heal before you could go, to not be able to catch up and fight him until he had carried out his orders. He was sparing you. Do you know anyone Holland might have ever spared? He fought his orders for you. He fought the seal.” She grabbed his chin to meet his eyes. “Do you know anyone he might have done that for?”

Kell let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in. “No,” he said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Ojka let go.

She sighed. “Who else here besides you does he know?”

Kell said nothing for a moment, before saying, “Still, he had you put that collar on me. He tried to get me to let Osaron in.”

“It was part of a deal he was persuaded into. He was losing control of the _oshoc,_ and he knew it would have destroyed his city if he didn’t do something. He loves his city more than anything.” She poked him in the shoulder. “However, as much as he detests himself for it, he cares for you as well. I do not understand it either, but it’s true. He refuses to acknowledge it, and as much as I hate it as well, I believe you are the only one who can help him at this point.” She looked at him intently.

Kell tensed. He cared for Holland too, but he never believed that it was mutual. The man had done his best to show how much he didn’t want Kell around, and-

“He misses you.” 

Kell raised a brow at her, but she folded her legs, stared at the floor, and continued. “Holland is not a man who cares often for others. He cares for me, but only as an ally and messenger, and he’s never mentioned family, so I assume that, like most in our city, his home life did not go well. As an Antari, he has struggled, and I have no doubt that even before the Danes, people have manipulated him for his power or out of jealousy or fear of it.”

Kell glanced uncomfortably to the side and gripped one elbow. “Yes, I get it, I have it easy. Move on, please.”

Ojka pursed her lips. “My point is, things have not gone well for him. He needs someone who is less… lacking in morals than I am. We are the only two that I know of that he has left, and I have hit a wall. He needs you, even if he does not know it.”

Kell grit his teeth. “Well what can I do?” he bit. “He doesn’t want me anywhere near him. As I have stated previously, I’ve literally killed him, at least once.” Kell didn’t like to raise his voice, so he took a deep breath. “Ojka, he hates me. Even if he subconsciously wants a friend, even if he wants me as a friend, I don’t...” He paused. “I don’t really make friends. I’ve never had any people close to me aside from my brother and Lila. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Ojka glowered up at him. Even while they were both sitting down, Kell was taller than her by some measure. “Do you think friends are a common occurrence in our London?”

Kell fidgeted. “...No.”

Ojka sighed. “Look, it doesn’t particularly matter what you do, just do _something._ Holland is going madder by the day, and as I said, he sees me as an ally, hardly as a friend. I’ve tried everything, and he’s not responding. He’s losing his will to live.”

Kell stood there for a moment, in his hidden cabin in the woods, and looked around. The floor was littered with dishes and fabric, and he knew that if this was what his depression looked like, Holland’s would be worse. It might not show itself in messiness, but it would definitely be worse. 

“Okay. Take me to him.”


	3. Reunited?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Holland runs away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-jBiumYmXk  
> Hello by Adele

Kell stepped through the door Ojka had made, and she led him through two normal wooden doors past a kitchen and an open bedroom door to a mostly unlit sitting room. There was black furniture and dark wooden things all over the area, but Kell’s eyes were drawn to Holland, who always dressed in pale colorless clothes.

Holland was dressed in a pair of light grey, oddly soft and flexible looking pants and a white button up shirt. He wore grey socks, and his hair, usually all black, was completely white. He looked drained, colorless, he looked like he was _dead._ Of course he wasn't; he was breathing. But he still looked washed out and anemic. 

He was also asleep on a black couch. Holland, dressed in light shades, stuck out like a sore thumb in the dark room. 

Kell stared at him. He’d never really seen Holland sleep. He’d walked in on him having a nightmare once, but that was before Holland had (for the second time) presumably died. 

Kell, after hearing Rhy describe his nightmares, knew what dying did to people who survived that such action, but Holland had been dead twice now, and Kell was pretty sure that he had been a shattered man already. Dying but not getting to stay dead was, according to Rhy, unpleasant, to say the least.

He felt something in his heart rise, and he didn’t know if it was relief that Ojka hadn’t been lying and that Holland was alive, that Kell would get another chance (at what, he didn’t know), or an emotion he didn’t want to name for fear of making it real.

Holland was _alive._

Kell took a step forward before he knew what he was doing, but this was the wrong thing to do.

Holland’s nose twitched, and his eyes, both a lovely green, cracked open. He groggily sat up, feet slipping from the couch to the hardwood floor. He looked straight at Kell, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide, like he didn’t believe it. He looked terrified, and Kell forgot how to breathe, but not in a good way. “Kell?” Holland’s voice was hoarse, and he looked like he thought he was dreaming.

“Hi,” Kell whispered.

Holland blinked, and then caught sight of Ojka standing in the doorway. His eyes went dark, and he looked like an angry cornered animal, a cat, maybe. Kell thought he was looking at him until he glanced behind himself to see Ojka sighing with what almost looked like regret. 

“Holland,” Kell started, but Holland was already on his feet and storming towards the door. “Holland, wait-” Holland slipped his feet into a pair of boots left by the door. “Holland!”

Holland slammed the door on his way out, and Ojka sighed. “Stay put,” she grumbled, before storming out after him.


	4. Rain and Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I might as well have stolen this from a teen romance drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/AtJfFqZAD4A  
> Daniel in The Den by Bastille

“What were you thinking?” Holland asked her in Makt. His voice was low, and he struggled to keep it steady. 

“I had to!” she said in the same tongue.

It was damp and cold outside, but nowhere near as cold as it used to be. Holland was only slightly aware of this as he stomped off away from the house, Ojka following frantically behind him.

“No, you didn’t. Ojka, why did you bring him here? I only moved out here with you because I knew he’d come looking on the tiny chance he heard about our world coming back to life. On the sliver of a chance he came back to find the woods without my body. I told you to stay away from the other London, I told you to stay away from _him.”_ He took a deep breath. “Why did you do it?”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you were going mad. You sit in one spot all day and do nothing. You talk to yourself, and your nightmares are getting worse. This is the most you’ve said in weeks, sire. ...I’m concerned.”

It started raining, a slow patter that was barely noticeable.

He whirled on her. “Stop calling me that! I’m not your King anymore, Ojka! And I don’t want your concern!” Holland didn’t often yell, and the sound was frightening, even to him. Ojka shook, but stood her ground, which only upset him more. “I don’t want your concern, or his, or anyone’s! I want only to be alone!”

“Stop lying!” she shouted back. “You stare at that coin all day, it’s clear you yearn for his presence! I’m unable to get you to do anything besides eat once daily! You’re getting thinner, you barely sleep, and you refuse to speak to me!” She ran her hands through her short red hair. “You’re withering away; a single glance at him and you’re yourself again! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Holland glared. “Did you not stop to consider that he dislikes me? Kell isn’t the kind of person to care about someone like me, and it’s not like I’ve given him any reason to. I’ve hurt him in unspeakable measures, Ojka!” He took a breath. “I got his brother killed. Twice. There’s no one he cares more for than his brother, and I...”

Ojka glared right back. “He came, didn’t he? Last time I came to him asking for assistance he almost died! He took that risk for you. Not to mention that he freed you from the Danes.”

The rain started to come down harder, but Holland barely paid any attention.

“By killing me.”

“What else could he do? You were ordered to stop him by any means necessary, and you hardly wanted to continue living under their rule. He freed you either way, Holland.”

“He still took my revenge! I spent years picturing how I’d take them apart, and he took that from me.”

Holland began pacing. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this? Why didn’t you at least leave a note so that I could get ready for him to show up? I’m a mess, our place is a mess, and he lives in a palace. He’s probably disgusted. He has no reason to stay, and I can’t give him one. Furthermore, we just left him by himself, and after he came all this way, he’s probably going down a spiral of terrible thoughts because he feels guilty about everything!” He ran his hands through his hair. “Kell hardly knows anything about me, and I know too much about him, clearly, seeing as I’ve now memorized his _fucking_ anxiety patterns!”

Ojka’s eyebrows furrowed, before her eyes widened in realization. “Oh,” she said softly. 

Holland’s chest ached. He had been struggling for several years against the idea of liking Kell in even the slightest sense, as Kell was far younger and way too… colorful. Kell was almost as pale as Holland, but Kell had more life in him, and not from youth. He was more healthy, more striking, more interesting, more bright, more... _everything_ positive that Holland never could have been. Kell disliked people as a general collective, but he drew them to him, even Holland. Especially Holland. 

When Kell had given him more chances than he deserved, when he had freed him from the Danes - even when it meant taking his vengeance away... When Kell had been there for him when nobody else was - even if Holland hadn’t wanted it then... When Kell had saved him from drowning in the river, when Kell had let him get his revenge on Osaron, when he had taken him home to die in solitude and peace. All of these only endeared Kell to him more and more, and he hated it, even though he’d never dared to acknowledge the fact before.

London wasn’t very accepting of… intimacy that wasn’t for reproducing, and Holland had only ever cared for Talya like this before - no. That was a lie. 

When he was fifteen, when he had still grown his hair out to cover his eye, he’d loved another boy, a year older than Holland at the time, named Boden. His name meant shelter, and he had cared for Holland, but he’d died as well; killed in a heist against the king that he had left Holland out of. 

And now Holland was having these feelings for _another_ man. Ojka had figured it out. He wasn’t careful enough, and now she was going to leave him with Kell, who would also be disdainful, and then he’d truly be alone. He was going to have to-

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a thin hand resting on his face. He stared down to see Ojka looking at him with concern. Holland blinked, not knowing what to do. No one touched one another in this world. In the dying world, it was always violent and bloody. And Ojka kept all her knives hidden in the house, because she had to leave often to buy food and other things, and she didn’t want Holland using them on himself. She had no weapon on her, and it was Ojka, who had always been loyal, so why was she touching him?

It was pouring now, the rain coming down in sheets.

His eyes began to prickle, and he touched her hand. She was the first to know, and he had always expected to be killed because of it. Instead, he was being comforted. It was mortifying. But still, Holland didn’t pull away.

“He does care. He followed me, and he’s waiting for you at the house. Will you at least give him a chance?” she asked, _distress_ for him of all things in her strange eyes. 

Holland squeezed her hand tighter before letting go. “I’ll try.” He was lying. Kell couldn’t help him. He just had to wait until Kell realized that and left.

The rain was coming down harder, and Holland ignored it, trying to pretend nothing was wrong. Ojka felt his cold skin getting colder from the water. She wiped the trails away, and he was grateful.


	5. Hugging!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which rain-soaked hugging ensues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLAhRiUeJ8E  
> Without You by Oh Wonder

Kell was panicking.

He’d shown up, and in his astonishment, he’d scared Holland off. Again.

 _Sanct,_ he thought. What if Ojka had been wrong? What if Holland really did hate him? Holland had always hated people, why would Kell be an exception? Holland had looked terrified when he’d looked up at him. He should leave, he should just get out of here. But it would hurt, leaving so soon after arriving in the first place- Shit. What was he thinking? Prioritizing his own pain over someone else’s needs? He was such an idiot. He needed to get out of here. He reached for the knife at his arm -

The front door opened, and Kell glanced up, snapped out of his anxiety. Ojka walked into the room, Holland trailing uneasily behind her. They were both soaked, so Kell figured it had started raining. 

The first thing Kell said was, “How did you know I was here?” Holland had been asleep when he and Ojka had appeared.

Holland refused to make eye contact. “I smelled you." The words were a grumble. "In a world that always smells like blood and ash and metal, your scent sticks out. I don’t need magic to know what you smell like.”

Kell blinked. “I… Everyone always says I smell like flowers. It’s different for each person. What did you smell?”

Holland seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. Finally, he said, very, very quietly, “We don’t really get flowers here, you just smell… like you. Sweet.” He winced slightly, like he’d said too much.

Kell felt himself swallow. It was not a Holland thing to say, especially since Holland was one of the few to have never previously commented on his smell.

Ojka nudged Holland forward, and he took a hesitant step in Kell’s direction. He still didn’t look at him. “Why are you here?” he asked. 

“Holland, do you know what I did after I brought you here? After you died?” Holland stared at the floor. “I tried to move on. I got on a boat with Lila, I left my London, I tried to get away. Nothing worked. My magic is weak. I got depressed, and Lila and I split up. I moved out of the city to a small unoccupied farm and I lived in isolation for weeks. I sat alone and tried not to think about you, but that was all I could do. I felt guilt, I felt… heartbroken,” he rushed his words, and Holland’s eyes snapped up. “When Ojka walked through my door, I...” Kell stopped. “Look, I’m worried. I came here because I want to help.”

Holland stared at him. For Kell, it was odd, because while Holland no longer had a black eye, Kell felt a spark, nearly the same crackle he’d felt when looking at the mark that they used to share. It was different, slightly. Instead of feeling magic in his eye when he looked at Holland’s black eye, he felt like he was being electrocuted looking at two green ones. He didn’t know why, and to change the subject, he said, “What do you need me to do?”

Holland hugged himself and turned his head away. “I don’t know.” He sounded strangely vulnerable. It had been so long since he’d heard Holland speak, and he sounded… broken. He wasn’t as good at hiding what he was thinking now, and his voice was no longer smooth. Now it had a gravelly edge to it, and it was unhelpfully disconcerting.

Kell chewed his lip. “Can we start with this?” 

He opened his arms, hopeful, and Holland glanced back at him in surprise. “Seriously?” 

Kell smiled, and the disbelief on Holland’s face vanished, replaced by something else Kell couldn’t name. “You _are_ serious,” he said.

“Come on, Holland. When do you get hugs?” 

Holland glared (with _green_ eyes), and pulled on the front of his white button up with his thumb and forefinger. “You see that I’m soaked, right?”

Kell rolled his eyes. “I don’t care. I’ll towel off later.”

Holland studied Kell for a moment, and took a few small steps forward. Kell walked towards him, meeting him in the middle of the room. 

He stood there, arms out, waiting. 

Holland took the final step forward, and hesitantly rested his arms on Kell’s shoulders, as gently as he could. Kell slowly folded his arms under Holland’s arms, around his wide frame, and nestled his chin beside Holland’s neck on the white fabric of his shirt. He ignored the cold of the rain. Holland’s head bowed and he pressed his forehead to Kell’s shoulder.

 _Sanct._ Holland _never_ would have done this before. What was wrong with him? What had changed? Kell could count on _one hand_ the number of times Holland had ever touched him when they weren’t actively attacking each other. Not only was Holland _allowing_ a _hug,_ he was _leaning into it._

Kell wouldn’t be willing to use his magic to dry off because it now drained him, but this took precedence. He squeezed gently, and Holland, the Maktahn _Antari,_ previous King of White London, the most steady and unshakable man Kell had met beside Barron, Maxim, and Tieren, started crying in his arms.

It wasn’t noticeable at first, he just felt Holland shiver, his arms tense, but then he felt new, warm wetness on his shoulder. He started to pull away. “Are you-” He stopped when Holland pulled him in again, squeezing him back into the hug with his forearms. Apparently Holland _did_ cry.

“Just… shut up and don’t go anywhere, idiot,” Holland whispered. Even his whisper sounded annoyed. Kell squeezed his back and rubbed small circles into Holland’s back through the wet shirt, giving silent assent.

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes until Holland started to slump into him slightly.

“Holland? Wh- Hey, I’m not as strong as you are, I can’t hold you up.” Holland murmured something, and Kell glanced at Ojka for assistance, eyes wide. “Help.”

She had been leaning on the wall with a mixture of annoyance and amusement on her face, and she said with a wry look, “Don’t lie, _Antari._ He’s human now, and you are still embedded with magic. You do not need my aid.” Kell scowled, and she flashed him a smile. 

“Holland, you’re drenched. I need to dry you off.” 

Holland said nothing, just leaned more into Kell’s embrace.

“Asshole.” Kell shifted and hoisted Holland up bridal style (a term he’d learned from Grey London), and with a grunt of effort, he made his way to the couch where he had seen Holland asleep less than fifteen minutes ago. Holland’s hands slipped from Kell’s shoulders to the hem of his coat and snagged there. Kell didn’t notice. 

He laid Holland down, and Kell gazed at him with what he recognized - with embarrassment - as fondness and sympathy. Holland had always been such a firm and steady man, but now that there was no threat, he seemed to be having issues with keeping his walls up, and it was a strange thing to witness. Kell was about to pull away, but Holland’s fingers were caught on his coat.

Kell just shrugged off the grey coat and laid it down on the larger man, and stepped away to Ojka, who smiled sadly at him. “Will you stay?” she asked. 

Kell bit the inside of his cheek. “For how long?”

“Why wouldn’t you just move here? You aren’t living with your family.”

“What? Ojka, I have a life. I have a farm in my own world, and I can’t go missing if my brother decides to check on me. And while I am concerned for Holland, I doubt he wants to live with me.”

Ojka held her hand flat above her eyes, thumb on her temple, sighing as if he were being daft. “Since you are completely disregarding the fact that he quite literally fell asleep in your arms, that he even allowed that much physical contact with you in the first place, a very clear display of _trust,_ from _him,_ might I suggest alternation?” She lifted her hand and gestured it to emphasize her point. “Live here for several days of the week, and go back to check on things for the remainder? I could ask him about the schedule in the meantime, and you could prepare what you may or may not wish to bring here with you.” She looked at him hopefully, which was weird, because Ojka wasn’t a person who seemed like she really wanted for much.

Kell winced, thinking of the pain that would come with all that travel, but nodded. “I’ll stay until he wakes up, and then I’ll try to talk to him, for all the good it will do me. I’ll go back in either a week or two days, depending on how he responds.”

She nodded and left to go get him a towel.

When she returned, he slipped off his shirt and toweled off before picking up a blue blanket sitting on a nearby chair. He wrapped himself in it and looked at Holland while he himself sat down on the floor, his back up against the chair. After a moment of consideration, he also grabbed one of the throw pillows from the end of the couch where Holland’s feet were. He gently lifted Holland’s head just enough to slip the pillow underneath before he slipped away and back to the floor.

He dozed off, wondering how Holland would handle him being there when he woke up.

********

About half an hour later, Kell blinked awake. He gazed up at Holland and his expression softened to something like a smile, but quickly shifted when he realized that the other man was quivering silently, and he froze.

He’d seen Holland have a nightmare once, but he had just been twitching and his brow was furrowed. Here, his whole body was actually shaking enough that Kell worried he might be in physical pain, with his hands over his ears, fingers in his hair, and expression pained. Kell’s coat, now wet, had already fallen to the floor.

“Holland?”

Holland just mumbled something unintelligible. 

Kell got to his knees and shuffled over to him. “Hey. Shit. Hey, fuck, hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, wake up.”

“Hættu ... Nei, takk.” He murmured in Maktahn. Holland wasn’t waking up, and Kell didn’t really know what to do. _“Vösk,”_ he muttered, still asleep. _Go away._

Kell slowly reached out and ran his fingers through Holland’s still wet hair with one hand, and with the other he wiped the tears from his cold face. “Holland, it’s just me. Come on, wake up.” He rubbed his fingers across Holland’s scalp, and a brief image of pressing his lips to Holland’s forehead flashed through his brain before he squashed it.

Holland gasped and opened his eyes, fear clear on his face. He shot backward, trying to pull away, but his back was against the couch, so it was futile. He almost got worse, from the looks of it, his eyes widening and breath ragged, but then his eyes focused on Kell, and he stopped panicking. He sucked in a breath, and let it out slowly, if with a shudder.

Kell knew he looked pitying, and he knew Holland hated it, but he couldn’t help himself. He let his hands fall away from Holland, and he scooted himself backwards a couple of inches. “Hey. You okay?” Kell knew it was a stupid question, but the need to ask it was there.

“What do you want, Kell?” Holland was grimacing, clearly annoyed at being caught in another nightmare. He rubbed his face and sat up. “Spit it out.”

Kell bit the inside of his lower lip. Holland had always been difficult, but he had to be patient, especially now. “I said, are you okay?”

Holland gave him a sardonic look, but the image was ruined by his red eyes and white hair.

Kell pressed his lips together and inclined his head, conceding the point. “Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed and mildly annoyed at himself for even thinking of asking such a dumb question. He looked up after a moment to see Holland staring at him, who raised a brow. “What?”

“Why don’t you have a shirt on?”

Kell blinked and looked down at himself, before flushing. In his rush to wake Holland, the blanket had fallen off. “Oh. Uh… I don’t have any clothes here and my shirt is soaked. And my coat is all wet from being your blanket. Sorry, I’ll put mine back on.” He grabbed the blue blanket from behind him and slipped it over his shoulders. He folded the fabric across his chest as high as he could, covering the mark that bound him and Rhy, slightly self conscious. He didn’t know what Holland thought of his sacrifice, not to mention the memories that runes on chests might bring up for him.

Holland’s eyebrow went down, but besides that he didn’t move. Kell felt awkward with Holland just staring at him like that, but at least he was back to normal. Kell didn’t really know how to deal with an emotional Holland. Dry and unpleasant Holland he knew, but...

On the other hand, it meant Holland was back to having his walls up, which meant Kell wouldn’t be able to get Holland to talk (if at all) without uncomfortable questions and a lot of prodding. He grimaced, and was about to ask Holland if he could stay, when Holland sneezed.

Holland.

Sneezed.


	6. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one gets guilty and the other gets soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-u2qB3dKDE  
> Death Bed by Powfu ft. Beabadoobee
> 
> _Forshadowing~_

Kell fell backwards and landed on his elbows, startled, and looked up to an equally surprised Holland. “Wh- What the _fuck_ was that?” Kell asked.

Holland blinked a couple of times, and said, “I believe I sneezed.”

Kell nodded, perturbed. “I thought so, just clarifying.” He got back to his knees and moved into Holland’s personal space, making the older man back up against the couch. Kell sighed. “Sorry, I just need to see how… sick you are. _Sanct,_ that’s weird.”

Holland scowled, but allowed Kell to press a hand to his forehead. Holland’s hair was still damp. Kell’s hand was warm, obscenely warm, and Holland hated how much he liked it. Kell was gazing intently at his face, his other hand on Holland’s knee, and while he knew he was checking for signs of sickness, it didn’t stop him from staring into Kell’s own mismatched eyes and tracing his features with his gaze. He still had that silver streak in his hair from when Holland used the inheritor… 

Kell caressed his cheek, rubbing a finger just under his eye, and frowned. “You really _haven’t_ been sleeping.”

Holland blinked, snapped out of Kell’s eyes and the feeling of his hands on his face. “What?”

Kell held Holland's jaw with his palms and rubbed under Holland’s eyes with both thumbs, the smell of crushed flowers surrounding his face, and Holland fought to keep his face impassive. Usually it was easy, but recently he was having a harder time of it than he’d like to admit, and this was not making it any easier. Kell had the hands of a bird, all slender and still soft. _Red royalty,_ he thought.

“Ojka told me, and I mostly believed her, but have you looked in a mirror lately? Your eyebags are the darkest I’ve seen on anyone except maybe myself. When was the last time you had a full night’s rest?”

Holland pursed his lips. “I don't know. Probably before… them.”

Kell let out a dry huff that held no humor. “But now your magic isn’t there to heal the dark circles under your eyes. That’s why I never noticed before, your body just didn’t let the circles show up. How many hours of sleep do you think you’ve gotten on average since… coming back around?”

“I’m not sure. It’s been... what, roughly two and a half months since I died, so maybe… four to six hours a night?” Holland winced when Kell gaped at him in distress. Wrong answer, apparently.

“Holland!”

“What?”

“That is _not_ a healthy amount of sleep!” Kell was staring at him, almost indignantly, and Holland wanted to laugh.

“That’s more than I usually got before. And I can never make myself go back to sleep after I wake up, so what do you want me to do?”

Kell looked intently at the floor to his left, hands clenched in his lap and started chewing his lip. He did that a lot, usually when distressed. It was distracting, so Holland looked away before Kell could catch him staring. “Firstly, how do you de-escalate?”

Holland just blinked.

“You know, coping mechanisms. Things you came up with to do to help you deal with the dreams.”

Holland keenly studied a nearby chair.

“Wh- You don’t have _any?_ How did you manage living like that for seven years?” He didn’t look at Kell, but he could hear that his voice was laced with pity. Holland hated it, but Kell was trying, so he didn’t leave. 

“I didn’t have a choice. I was usually woken up and immediately given tasks. I couldn’t leave to get fresh air or eat food without permission, and it’s not like I could kill myself. That was one of the first orders. Why do you think I hated everything?”

Holland saw Kell rub his face out of his peripheral vision. He pulled his hands down his face, dragging his skin downwards. His eyes were wide, both the blue and black, and he stared down at the couch. 

Holland wanted to tell him it was fine. 

But it wasn’t, so he didn’t. 

Then he sneezed again. 

Kell didn’t fall backwards again, but he did start. “That’s still so weird.” He shook his head, got to his feet, and the blanket slipped off. He walked off towards the kitchen, back bare and exposing a small constellation of freckles, mostly concentrated on his shoulders and shoulder blades. Holland gaped at the thin paleness of Kell. Now that he’d seen Kell without his coat and faked indifference, he saw how lanky the young _Antari_ truly was. He liked the view more than he should have.

When Kell returned ten minutes later, Holland had mostly gotten over the image of Kell without a shirt on, but Kell walked back in, still without a shirt, and he almost blushed. Kell was holding a bowl of what looked like soup, and he sat down on the couch to Holland’s left.

“I tried. I can cook more or less decently, but I don’t know if-”

Holland knew when Kell was going to go down a trail of self deprecation, so he cut him off. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

Kell blinked and handed him the bowl. “I hope you like broth.”

Holland had never had any sort of broth before, but when he lifted the spoon to his mouth, he recognized the taste of a local Maktahn bird, a cygnus. It was a long necked bird that gave (unsurprisingly) white feathers that people commonly used as quill pens. He and Vortalis had hand-fed a flock once, and Holland’s face twisted at the bittersweet memory. “Thank you,” he said, attempting to keep his voice level.

Kell gave him a look that told him he was failing, but said nothing, didn’t ask. Holland sipped from the spoon again, and observed Kell out of the corner of his field of vision. Kell’s blue eye, the one he could see, was now focused on the floor, so Holland subtly raked his eyes over Kell’s frame. The idiot still had no shirt on, and his scars were few. He was unbelievably thin for someone who had grown up on the scarlet London’s palace food, and he was, as usual, slouching. He was leaning forwards slightly, elbows on his knees, hair in his face. Holland was still entranced by the sprinkling of freckles across his body, and he loathed that part of himself for it. 

Holland quivered lightly, and to his dismay, Kell noticed. But instead of getting embarrassed, Kell thought it was because Holland was cold. He was, but that hadn’t been why he trembled. 

“Whoops,” Kell said, a mildly guilty look on his face, “I forgot.” He got to his feet. He crossed the room and snagged a towel off a chair. He came back to Holland, handing him the rag. Holland took it, and just held it there, not really knowing what to do. He’d never toweled anything off before, he’d just used magic. Holland had never really even been in the rain before... It snowed here, but it didn’t often rain, and when he bathed himself he never bothered to dry himself off with a towel, he’d never needed to, not with all his power.

But this meant he didn’t exactly know how to use a towel effectively.

He sneezed again, and looked down at the rag in his hand, lost.

Kell sighed, and again didn’t ask, only took the towel from him, and before Holland knew what was happening, Kell had started to dry his hair off. He sat down in front of Holland again, his torso framed by the space between Holland’s knees, and scrunched Holland’s hair through the towel.

“What are you doing?” Holland asked. 

“Shut up and take off your shirt.”

Holland was so startled that he actually set the soup bowl aside and started to before looking back at Kell incredulously. Kell wasn’t making eye contact, he was just continuing to ruffle the towel through Holland’s damp hair. “Why?” Holland was confused. Kell wasn’t attracted to him, so why was he sitting right _there_ and asking for Holland to take his clothes off?

Kell rolled his eyes. “Maybe with the magic went your intuitive skills.” He moved the towel from Holland’s white hair to the back of his head, rubbing away the wetness behind his ears and on the nape of his neck. “Come on, off. I won’t do anything weird, I promise.”

 _Too close._ Holland still didn’t really know what was happening, but he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He left it there, only revealing a sliver of skin. Kell took the towel away and gave Holland a look.

 _“Holland.”_ The redhead crossed his arms.

“No.” He knew he sounded like a child, but he didn’t want Kell to see.

“I’m trying to dry you off, idiot. I don’t care about the scars. You know I’ve seen them before.”

Holland momentarily loured at the wall, but slipped the shirt off over his shoulders. Kell helped him pull the wet fabric off his hands, and set the shirt down on the floor next to him. Kell, true to his word, oddly didn’t balk at his mutilated torso. 

“Why are you doing this?” Holland asked.

Kell gave him a sad smile. “How hard is it for you to accept the concept that I care about you?” He slipped the towel over Holland’s shoulders, moving his attention back to the job he’d assumed without being asked.

Holland’s face twitched. “Like I have all the reasons in the world to believe anybody gives a damn.”

“Well, can I stay here for a while to help eradicate that unnecessary state of mind?”

Holland stared at him. “Why would you want to do that? Why do you trust me? We aren’t exactly lifelong friends, Kell.”

Kell snorted, moving the towel to Holland’s forearms. “No, definitely not. Still, while you were certainly more powerful than me before, you are now magicless and physically weaker than me because I have some of that power still running through my veins, even if you’re still, uh...” He had been drying off the rest of Holland’s arms, and he paused. “Still more muscular.”

It was funny. Holland’s chest and arms and nearly all of his skin was marred beyond repair, and now that he was human, those scars would never go away, but Kell wasn’t staring at those, he was staring at his arms. Holland had been a relatively large man for most of his life, but it was Kell who was ogling at his figure. Not some woman who looked at him with desire in one of the other Londons, not some man who stared at him with envy, or anyone who had more instinct and looked at him with fear, but Kell, who as far as he knew, did none of the above.

Kell finished with his arms and took a deep breath. He looked up at Holland for affirmation, who nodded. Kell slowly moved the towel over Holland’s bare chest, eyes fearful and hands shaky. He paused, finally stopping to stare at Holland’s scarred body. Holland frowned. He’d known it was coming, but it still stung. “What’s wrong?” He knew quite well what was wrong, but he wanted Kell to say it. He wanted him to _say_ that it was disgusting. He wanted him to _say_ that it was scary. He wanted him to _say_ that it made him look like a freak and a monster _to his face._

Kell bit his lip, and Holland snapped right out of his hurt. _Kajt._ In spite of the situation, he wanted to be the one biting that lip. He wanted to clutch Kell to his body and hold him there forever, but right now was not the time to be thinking like that. Kell was worrying about something, _again,_ and Holland, regardless of his attempts to not care, wanted to know why. He wanted to help. It disgusted him.

“I just… I know you hate me for it, but I feel so bad that all this happened to you, all this torture, and that I didn’t…" His voice cracked. "I didn’t _do_ anything.” Kell’s eyes shone, both the blue and black agitated and regretful. “I did nothing. What’s wrong with me? Holland, I’m so _sorry.”_

Oh.

So the looks he gave every time Holland’s scars were visible weren’t fear or disgust. They were _guilt._

Holland internally groaned. “Now who’s being dense?” Kell looked up at him, confused, and he continued. “If you had tried to help, they would have sent me to kill you, or worse, and more realistically, to be honest, they would have done the same thing to you. It’s sick, but they would have forced me to find you for either option. The fact that you didn’t is better than the idea of you trying.”

Kell chewed his lip again, _damn it,_ and after a moment of consideration, Holland lay one hand on top of Kell’s rusty orange head. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice tired.

Kell swallowed, and before Holland knew what exactly was happening, Kell had shuffled closer and wrapped his arms around Holland’s back, resting his forehead on his chest, holding Holland in a kind of exhausted embrace. "Don't lie to me," he mumbled. Holland froze, his arms hovering in the air, not quite knowing what to do.

He shivered, because now Kell had his very bare and very warm upper body against Holland’s cold one. He paused, closed his eyes, and brought his arms up under Kell’s arms to hold the backs of his shoulders. Swallowing hard, he hesitantly hugged back, enjoying Kell’s body heat for a short, selfish moment.

“I’m _so sorry,”_ Kell repeated. He couldn’t see Kell’s face, but he knew that his brow was furrowed and his eyes were unfocused, probably the corners of his mouth turned down. He was also surprised that Kell didn’t shiver at his cold hands, but then again, Kell was full of surprises today.

 _Ugh._ Because he was an idiot, Kell had brought Holland soup and had helped him dry off, and Holland knew he’d done nothing to deserve it. He felt like he’d cheated this affection out of him, and it made his insides twist. Curse Kell and his stupid overwhelming need to help.

“I know.” Holland took a deep breath, and pushed Kell away. He pretended not to see the mild hurt in his expression.

“I appreciate the help, but you need a shirt. I’ll be right back.” He got up and went to what was sort of his room, but where he never slept. He dug out two old shirts from the closet and put one on, then changed into dry pants. As much as he was enjoying Kell’s proximity, he wasn’t going to have Kell dry off his legs. He was still a little cold, but he’d live. 

He silently made his way back to the living room where Kell was, to see him with his face in his hands, red hair a mess, like he’d been running his hands through it. Holland felt bad, but he didn’t quite know what for. He walked back over and dropped the shirt next to Kell. It was a light blue button up, and as Holland set it down, he realized it was too big.

Kell got up, pulled his arms through the sleeves, and buttoned up the shirt. He examined himself, and Holland inhaled sharply through his nose, immediately regretting the decision to bring Kell a cover. It was far too big, and now _Kell_ was far too _appealing._ The fabric hung off of his figure and the sleeves went down way past his fingers, so he had to bunch up the fabric to hold out his hands even halfway. The hem went just below his waist, and the blue matched his eye so well that Kell looked more ridiculously beautiful than normal. _It was_ less _adorable when he was just shirtless,_ Holland thought, flustered.

Kell looked down at the shirt, then back up at Holland. “What do you think?”

Holland let out a breath, and turned away, ears pink. “It’ll do.”

Kell cocked his head, but dismissed whatever he was thinking and sat back down on the couch, hands in his lap.

“Holland,” Kell started. When Holland said nothing, still embarrassed, Kell continued. “…You never answered my question. Can I stay here? At least for part of the week.”

Holland dropped down to Kell’s left, still enjoying Kell’s physical nearness, and thought about asking why Kell would want to do that, but he already had, and it had gotten him nowhere except hugged and rattled at Kell’s cuteness. “You really don’t have to. Also, I don’t want you slicing open your hands to visit me all the time.”

Kell snorted. “As if I’m not used to the feeling of knives on my skin by now.” 

“Yes, but now it hurts you to go from place to place.” He cursed inwardly. Too much of voicing his observations and Kell would pick up on his concern.

“That’s why I’m asking to stay, you dolt.” Kell didn’t seem to notice exactly what he’d said, just dismissing his objections as soon as they rose. Clearly, there was little likelihood of talking Kell out of this.

Holland was silent for a moment, considering. “...If you want. I don’t care when you leave, feel free to go whenever you like. I have Ojka here, so if I start getting… you know…”

“Depressed?”

“Yes, that. If it starts up again, she’ll no doubt come get you despite my telling her to leave you alone. Again.”

Kell grinned at him, the image as jarring and sudden as a thunderclap, and it took a considerable amount of Holland’s will in that moment to not kiss the stupid ginger unconscious. Kell didn’t _smile._ Certainly not for _him._ Again, he hadn’t earned any of this, but there they were. He swallowed.

“You’re telling me that you ordered her to stay away from me, and she ignored you? _Ojka _ignored _you?”_ He snickered and pressed a knuckle to his lips. “Damn. Aside from the insomnia, it must have been bad.” __

____

Kell paused. He stopped smiling and slowly rested his chin on his hand. “But you seem normal now. Were you just incredibly lonely? Ojka doesn’t seem like someone who’s good at making conversation.” He studied Holland. “Seriously, why the sudden change? You’re crying and not sleeping one moment, and then you see me and go back to being as dry and aloof and gruff as usual."

__Holland clenched his teeth and looked straight ahead, eyes on the wall. “I don’t get it either,” he lied. “You can leave if it bothers you, I know it makes no sense.”_ _

____

Kell bumped his shoulder into Holland’s. “You’re fine. It’s… nice to be needed." 

____

__Holland blinked. He softened slightly under Kell’s unfamiliar friendliness, but he still said, “When did I say that?"_ _

____

__“You didn’t have to.” Kell gave him a kind smile, and Holland practically melted. There was warmth in his gaze, a deep affection that Holland again felt he’d cheated out of Kell. He hadn’t earned the warmth, but it was there nevertheless - for_ him_ despite all he’d done, and he barely held back a soft smile of his own.

____

“Honestly though, you seriously need some sleep. Finish your soup, and then show me where your room is. I want to be there if you start dreaming again. You aren’t sleeping on the couch again if I can help it.”

____

Holland grumbled, annoyed at the way he was reacting to the sweetness, but picked up his bowl.

____


	7. Laughter and Bickering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kell is called out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNcCTgA5lzo  
> Lose It by Oh Wonder

As Holland finished his food, Kell went to get up, but Holland caught his sleeve. “Where are you going?”

Kell blinked. “To talk to Ojka? I assumed you wanted some space after… me bugging you.”

Holland’s face did something weird. He pursed his lips and trained his eyes on the hand that had Kell’s shirt. “You didn’t- I…” He paused, taking a breath. Kell had never seen this before, conflicting emotions visible on Holland’s face. “Stay in here.”

Kell blinked again, slightly confused. “Normally people say please, but I’ll let it go. Fine.” He turned to the door. “Ojka?”

Ojka slid around the door, apparently having been there for quite some time. Kell gave her a look, and she shrugged. “You’re working on trusting me, I’m working on trusting you.”

He tilted his head, conceding the point. “Fair argument. Alright, come here.” She practically glided over before plopping down in a chair, her movements graceful and fluid, and he remembered exactly why he wanted to talk about this. “I know this conversation might be a little bit awkward, but I feel like it’s needed.” He plopped down onto the couch again, and Holland let go of his shirt.

Holland leaned back against the couch next to him, arms folded. “What exactly do you want to talk about?”

Kell bit his lip. “Don’t get mad, I just- Ojka’s… dead body got quite a beating. She told me she doesn’t remember any of the fight, nothing after Lila… killed her, but… I’m just still struggling to process how or why neither of you is, well, thoroughly dead.”

Holland and Ojka snorted almost in unison. “You think we do?” She asked.

Kell made a face. “I thought brainstorming on whatever the fuck might have done this might be a decent idea, because _last_ time someone came back from the dead, it didn’t exactly go well, or did you forget that you both died horrible deaths twice?” 

There was a moment of silence where Kell worried he’d seriously fucked up, before Ojka burst out laughing, her voice bouncing around the room in a way he’d never heard in White London’s world, no cruelty or insanity, just merriment. Kell only barely caught what _might_ have been a restrained smile on Holland as the man lifted a hand to his face.

Ojka wheezed for another moment before catching her breath, a smile lighting up her scarred face. “Aheh. You,” she said, pointing at him, “are more funny than I gave you credit for.”

Kell felt an embarrassed flush start to creep up his neck. “I’m… really not.”

She grinned. “Possibly, but you’re entertaining enough in the sense that both Holland and I appreciate it.”

“Holland _what?”_ Kell glanced at Holland, who was shielding his face with one hand.

“No comment,” was all he said.

Kell blinked. “Uh… When have I ever been entertaining, in _any sense,_ to you?”

Ojka was still grinning. “You don’t want him to reply to that. Either way, he and I are both in dire need of some fun, even if the humor is dark. ‘Even if’ being variable to meaning ‘especially,’ on the right occasion.” Her smile sobered just the lightest bit, and she gave Kell a look, a more genuine beam on her face than he’d ever imagined her capable of. Holland lifted his hand minutely to watch the two of them, but neither noticed. “Truly though, thank you for coming here. He needs this.”

Holland pulled his hand away to give Ojka a glare. “Shut up.”

Her smile widened again into a grin. “No,” she said, tone sweet.

Holland gave her a look. “I’ll fight you.” His voice was the slightest bit amused.

”You can try,” She countered easily.

Kell watched the exchange with a slightly baffled look on his face. Previously, he’d thought Ojka was just Holland’s messenger and knight, and she had told him that Holland didn’t see her as anything more than an ally, but they looked to be friends here. Whether or not it was because Kell had made a joke that had them both amused, he didn’t think Ojka gave herself enough credit.

Kell cringed slightly. These people had tortured him and ruined whole aspects of his life. Holland had done too much to count. Ojka had put that collar on him. What was he doing here?

_He needs this._

Kell cringed again. He was being horrible. Most of what Holland had done wasn’t _his_ fault, and Ojka was from a world full of blood and immorality and had been under orders from someone who had given her obscene amounts of power.

But did it really matter? They had still made those choices. They had still indirectly gotten hundreds of people killed.

 _Of course it matters._ He was blaming them for things they hadn’t really had a say in. Ojka and Holland were both in morally grey areas anyway, and Holland hadn’t had control of his body. He’d had good intent when he'd let Osaron in. Ojka was, again, just following orders from who she’d assumed was Holland. Kell was thinking awful things about people who were just trying to survive, so what did that make him? Was he just-

Pale fingers snapped in front of his face. “Stop that.” 

Kell’s eyes flicked up to Holland’s face. “What?”

“Whatever nonsense dilemma you’re going in circles around in your head.”

Kell scowled. _How did he know?_ “You don’t even know what I was thinking about.” 

“I can guess.” Holland’s voice was steady, but with a cold edge to it. “Stop blaming yourself for things you didn’t do.”

“Oh, _you’re_ one to talk.”

Ojka made a face, annoyed. “Ugh. Calm yourselves, both of you. If you’re staying here, we all need to be on good terms with one another. Holland, stop being passive aggressive, it’s unhelpful. Kell, he’s right. From what I’ve heard, you blame yourself consistently for things you had no part in, and _you’re_ also right, there’s enough of that here.” She shot Holland a look.

Kell glared at Holland. “What did you tell her about me?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Wh- _No,_ if it’s about me then it’s my business! You-”

Ojka groaned loudly, cutting them both off. “Shut it, the both of you.”

“Fine, whatever,” Kell grumbled, folding his arms and scowling at the floor. Holland shrugged, avoiding eye contact with both of them, and Kell continued. “We can brainstorm whatever brought you back and why later, it’s fine.”

“Yes please,” Ojka and Holland said at the same time.

They glared at each other, and Kell snorted.

 _Well, at least nobody is trying to kill me,_ he thought. _Kind of a low bar, but with these two it's a box that needs to be checked off before I can do anything for them._ He glanced up at the two of them bickering, Ojka with her unusual face and bright red hair throwing cutting remarks and Holland, with masked brokenness behind his eyes and his white hair in his face countering her with ease, and Kell fought the urge to smile. _It_ is _kind of nice to see this though, people from Makt honestly having a good time. Kind of gives me hope._

He closed his eyes, listening to squabbling from the Maktahn _Antari_ that weren't.


	8. An Attempt For an Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Holland goes to the beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qlKhWkKpMEU  
> Mountains by Message to Bears
> 
> 2) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ofCZObsnOo  
> Hold On by Chord Overstreet

CONTENT WARNINGS: Attempted suicide, cutting, nightmares, remembering attempted murder, remembering death of loved ones, also heavy angst

_Holland woke up in bed next to someone._  
 _He rubbed his eyes, sat up, and looked over. Alox was lying on his side, his dark mass of hair covering his face, and Holland smiled. He was barely nine years old, and his brother knew he didn’t like sleeping alone, so they shared a bed._  
 _He yawned, stretching his arms, but then felt a blade grazing his arm._  
 _“That magic isn't_ yours _.” Alox’s face was hard, eyes red from drink and lack of rest. Holland tried to stop himself, but it was like Osaron was in his head again. He couldn’t control his limbs._  
 _He watched helplessly as he said, “_ As Staro, _” and tipped the newly made statue of his brother over. It shattered against the floor._  
 _He woke again, next to Talya._  
 _She was asleep, dressed in a pretty red dress, her honey colored hair unbraided and spread out on the pillow around her. He smiled, and yawned. He was eighteen and she was wonderful. For the first time in his life, he was comfortable with where his life was. He stretched his arms, and then she was standing there with a knife half-buried in his chest. “Why?” He asked._  
 _“I’m sorry, Hol,” she said, before lunging again._  
 _And again, he tried and failed to do anything but will her knife still as she flew into it. He held her there as her elegance bled out onto the floor._  
 _He woke again, rubbing his eyes._  
 _He slipped on a clean set of clothes, and walked into the room where Vortalis was setting up his game. Holland had gone to take a nap, and Vortalis had told him that when he woke up he’d like to play Ost with him._  
 _One second Holland was sitting down at the table, and the next he was watching the last of Vortalis’ life drain out of him in his arms. He’d tried to save him._  
 _He woke once more._  
 _He sat up. This felt different. The air was tinted red. He wasn’t home. He was in the other London._  
 _Holland looked around, and realized he was in an unusually comfortable bed. There was someone next to him. He was scared to look, but he turned his head._  
 _Kell was asleep next to him, red hair falling into his eyes. Holland was both pleased and terrified by this image. Previously, he’d only woken by people he loved. But he’d also watched all of them die. Would he be forced to watch himself kill Kell? Had he? He couldn’t remember._  
 _He climbed out of the bed, wanting to run out of the room before Kell woke and the scene started all over again, but instead he tripped and fell, feet tangled in the blankets, landing with a loud thud on the floor. Kell bolted up and stared at him, and he stared back, trying to keep his expression stoic. Kell looked horrified._  
 _Holland didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know if he’d ever killed Kell, but he knew he had never slept with him, so why had they been in bed together? And if they had, why was Kell upset? “Kell-”_  
 _Suddenly they weren’t in a sleeping chamber, but in an alleyway in the same world. Kell had the stone in his hand, his clothes streaked with blood, and he was sticking his hands out. Holland felt himself close his eyes, felt himself forcefully relax, and then there was metal piercing its way through him._  
 _This time, it was Kell who killed him. This time, it was_ him _who died._

Holland’s eyes flew open, breath ragged. He had rolled off the bed in his sleep.

“Kajt,” he cursed.

He took several deep breaths, before swallowing and sitting up.

He knew people from the dreary London thought too deeply on dreams. People from his world didn’t pay too much attention to them, but after that, it was hard not to believe that he was being given a message. And if not a message, at least an out. A reminder of what was possible.

He glanced to the side. Kell had pulled out several blankets and was sleeping on the floor beside where Holland was now. His hands were clutching the blankets, his eyelids fluttering. So he was dreaming too. Holland exhaled. “Þú reyndir.” he said bleakly.

Holland knew where Ojka kept her knives. She thought he didn’t know, but he’d found the loose floorboard one day while she was out buying food.

He slipped silently through the halls to the kitchen, lifted the floorboard, and grabbed a small blade. He didn’t need anything flashy or big, he just needed something sharp.

Holland slipped on his boots, and didn’t even bother closing the door, he just walked. He didn’t know how far the cold ocean was, he just knew that it was to the east.

Those last horrifying moments of the only people he cared about dying at his hand had shaken him for the last time.

Had he not been a good enough brother?  
He was gifted with power that Alox could never have had.

Had he not loved Talya more than anything?  
He hadn’t paid enough attention to her.

Had he not protected Vortalis for years?  
He’d still failed in the end anyway.

Not to mention Ojka. Lila had killed her and then she had become a vessel for that monster, and it was his fault. Maybe he hadn’t dreamt of her because he hadn’t been the one to directly end her life. Or maybe it was because she came back and had been living with him for a time. It didn’t matter, it was still his fault she had died in the first place.

And Kell killing him…

He didn’t know why he felt so unsettled by that image. Despite his feelings, hadn’t he and Kell been at each other’s throats for years? Hadn’t they always been on opposite sides?

No.

Kell had tried, at first.

_“It’s nice, to meet someone like me.”_

And Holland had pushed him away.

_“I am not like you.”_

And yet Kell was still here, caring about him, being the idiot he was.

Might as well spare him the trouble.

After the better part of an hour, Holland reached the beach, and he didn’t bother trying to conceal himself any more. He walked to the shore, and knelt in the water, the freezing water lapping at his knees.

He could do it. Here and now, he could finally get some peace. All he had to do was let go.

He dug the small knife into his arms, at his wrists and at the inside of his elbows where the veins were most prominent. Blood welled and ran into the water, lots of it.

Realistically, he could have just cut his neck. It would have been quicker, but with all that he’d done, he didn’t deserve a fast death. He sat there, letting himself feel the pain, reveling in the quiet that was going to follow. He was bleeding heavily, and he was starting to feel lightheaded. His thoughts were going foggy, and he closed his eyes, relieved.

_On Vis Och,_ he thought as he started to fall to the side.

Someone caught him.

Holland turned his head, unfocused eyes finding Kell holding him, a terrified expression on his face.

Holland’s head lolled, but he dully felt Kell’s fingers on his jaw and lifted it so he could look him in the eye. “Fuck, Holland? Hey. Oh, _Sanct,_ no, fuck, _no,_ no no no no no! What did you _do?”_ Kell lifted Holland's arm and stared at the dark red of his blood covering it thickly like paint.

What kind of question was that?

With icy clarity that shot through the haze of his mind, he realized Kell was going to try and stop him.

Holland wrenched away from him, head spinning as he did so, and fell back so that his hands were propping him up under the water. His wrists stung at the salt, and his ears were buzzing, but he didn’t do anything except glare at Kell.

“Stop, shit, no, don’t do that! The water-”

Both of his wrists, being submerged in water, were being leeched of even more blood from his cuts. His vision slipped, his elbows buckling, and he fell back, splashing into the shallow water.

Holland thought he heard Kell scream. It was a shrill, anguished sound that pierced the cold night air, and it was a sound he’d only heard a select few times in his life, when Kell had been in immense physical pain.

Why would he be screaming _now?_ He wasn’t the one dying.

Kell pulled him up by the shirtfront, ripped the knife from his hand, and, wincing, dug it into his own wrist, deep, _too_ deep, before throwing it into the cold sand a few feet away. “No, no, nono _no._ Don’t you go _anywhere._ Oh, fuck, hold on.” He tugged one of Holland’s arms around so he was facing him, and pressed his now blood soaked hand to Holland’s chest. _“As Hasari,”_ he said.

There was a crackle, and Kell shuddered, falling to his hands and knees in the water and wincing with a cry as the power sped through himself and into Holland.

“What are you doing? Let go of me.” Holland hoarsely growled back, pulling his arm away. The effort made his other arm buckle again, and he landed on his side in the water. He was so tired. He could have just washed away here.

“Keeping you from dying, you bastard!” Kell looked panicked as he dragged himself upright.

Holland didn’t want any of this nonsense. “Why do you think I’d want that? I’m the one who came out here with a knife!” His wrists and inner elbows were slowly sealing, and the prominence of the scars he could see had faded just the slightest. He could have been _done._

Kell was gnawing his lip, eyes wide and breath erratic. “I- I don’t… _Sanct,_ Holland, I can’t-” He looked helplessly at the sand, hugging himself, the blood from his wrist seeping into the blue shirt Holland had loaned him. “I’m sorry.” His voice was small.

Holland felt his chest tighten.

“...You’re bleeding,” he said as he sat up, trying to change the subject.

Kell snorted, still looking at the sand, and dragged his clean hand through his red hair. “Oh, yes. Because I’ve _ever_ been concerned about myself when it comes to saving your ass.”

Holland’s breath slowed, from frantic to the forced calm that he had learned to put in place whenever he needed it.

They sat there in silence, the water lapping at their legs the only thing breaking the uncomfortable quiet.

Finally Kell spoke. “Do you really want to die that badly?”

Holland stiffened, annoyed. “I’m just- so tired, Kell. Nothing good has ever come my way and not turned sour, why should it start now when I’ve finally...” He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. _When I’ve finally started to get over you?_

Kell’s gaze snapped up to him, but Holland wasn’t expecting the look there. The look of bewilderment.

_Idiot,_ he told himself. He shouldn’t be telling Kell that he was something good in his life.

He wasn’t lying, though. Nothing good had happened to him. His magic had made Alox attack him. Talya had stuck a knife in him. Vortalis had died in front of him. Even his death hadn't stuck. He just wanted to get some peace, but Ojka had to go and get Kell, annoying, spoiled, righteous Kell who wouldn’t let him die.

Kell got to his feet. “Come on. You have to dry off again.”

Holland didn’t move, still angry that his attempt had failed. He knew he’d have been able to do it if _stupid_ Kell hadn’t shown up.

He stole a glance at the knife a few feet away. If he lunged, he could probably get hold of it, but Kell would take it away again before he could do any real damage. And worse, he’d look at him with those eyes again, frantic and disappointed, and Holland didn’t want to see that. Not for any reason.

Kell must have followed his eyes, because he picked up the knife and stuck it in his pocket while holding out the other hand to Holland. “Let’s get you back to the house for some blankets and we can talk about this there, yeah? It’s really cold out here.”

Holland glowered, but took Kell’s hand, pulled himself to his feet, and ignored the emotions pressing at his chest that were threatening to spill out.

Kell still had his hand clasped in one of his own, and he gently rubbed his thumb along Holland’s cold one. He lifted his other hand to Holland’s face, but hesitated and searched Holland’s gaze instead. Holland stared emptily at him, and Kell just sighed and dropped both hands, pulling away. Holland felt a small twinge of regret, but didn’t show it.

Kell turned away from the water and started in the direction of the house. Holland considered not going with him, but Kell would have made him go anyway, so he just followed silently.

By the time they got back, his wounds were completely healed, and he felt drained. He slumped on a chair, hair falling into his eyes, and Kell left to get clean clothes and blankets.

Why was Kell still here? He had been cruel, ruthless, detached, and utterly apathetic. Even now, as he was doing his best to stay reserved and show no emotion on his face, he could hear Kell bustling around in the other room. There was no reason for Kell, despite how morally sound he was, to be sticking around.

Kell came back in, a blanket and a change of clothes for Holland. “Here,” he mumbled. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He left again, giving Holland the privacy to change alone. The clothes were soft fabric, meant for sleeping. He was clearly trying to make sure Holland was comfortable, but they both knew it was pointless. Holland was angry, and Kell was well aware.

He sat down on the same couch they’d been on yesterday, but he didn’t smile at the nice memory. Instead, he just changed into the dry clothes and crossed his legs up on the couch, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, and putting his hands in his lap.

When Kell came back, still in Holland’s too-big clothes, just a different set, he didn’t blush. Not this time.

Kell hesitated in the doorway, a mug of something in his hand, his wrist bandaged, blood slowly seeping through. He’d cut too deep; it’d leave a scar for months. Holland glanced at him, but didn’t get up, didn’t ask what he was holding, didn’t say anything. He only looked at the floor. Sighing, Kell walked over and sat down next to him. Holland still didn’t look over.

“Holland, come on.” He set his drink down. “Ojka is furious, but I told her I’d talk to you about it. She’s cooling off outside, but we’re both concerned. We have to talk about this.”

Holland’s face hardened. “No. You _want_ to talk about this.”

_“No,_ this is important. What you’re doing is unhealthy. I know it’s difficult, but let me help you.”

He snapped. “Why _should_ I? I don’t want to be here anymore, and just because you can’t stand to let anyone go because you’re scared of being alone doesn’t mean I have to stay alive for you.”

He almost regretted it as he stared at the floor when he felt Kell tense beside him, but at some point in his life, Kell would have to learn how to accept some hard truths. He waited for Kell to hit him, or leave, or yell at him, or say something dry and insulting, but Kell just let out a shaky breath and said, “You’re right.”

Holland blinked in surprise, but didn’t look over. “I am scared of being alone,” Kell continued, voice weary. “The life I’ve lived has been solitary. Lila was the first partner I ever actually had, Rhy is and always has been my only real family, and nobody but him ever understood me.” He lifted a hand to Holland’s cheek. “Except you.”

Holland turned to look at him, doing the very best he could to keep his face expressionless.

“I do have trouble letting people go.” Kell lifted his other hand to his chest, where Holland knew the mark that bound Kell and his brother was, even if he’d never actually seen it until yesterday.

Holland remembered, briefly, how Kell, still reeling from the echoed pain of Rhy’s wounded body, had slipped when they’d gotten off the boat on the way back to the city. Holland had caught him, hauled him up, and then they had gone through a wall to the royal palace. He remembered how Kell had looked, when he had walked into the Rose Hall, when he had stared down at his adopted parents’ bodies.

“Kell,” he remembered saying, concerned despite himself, but Kell didn’t reply even as Lila touched his arm. He just stared down at the corpses, face somewhere between horrified and empty. It was an expression he knew. He saw it in the mirror every day when he had lived under the Danes.

Holland knew that the kind of magic that Kell had used to save his brother was forbidden where he was from, and that it came with a cost, one that weighed on Kell and his brother every day. But he also knew what it meant to feel loss, to do drastic things in the name of what you loved.

Kell’s warm hand on his cheek shifted to brush some hair from his eyes. “Either way, I still think you deserve a second chance.”

“I took my second chance and I nearly destroyed your city with it.”

“No. One, you were under the Danes almost the entire time I’ve known you. There was no first chance. Two, you never had an option in the first place. I know you. You love and value your home more than anything, even your own life. Yes, it’s a choice you made, but you would have made it no matter what, and I’m the one who sent you there. I don’t blame you. Nobody with any sense who knows you _would.”_

Holland snorted. “Does that exclude Delilah?” He was trying to be cruel, trying to encourage Kell to just _leave,_ but instead of snapping, Kell rolled his eyes.

“Lila doesn’t know you. Not like I do.”

“Stop acting like we’re friends, Kell.”

“I never said we were, but she only… She only sees what she wants to. I learned that the hard way.”

What did that mean? Kell had said that the two of them had split up, but there was more to it that Kell wasn’t telling him. He tried to not care.

“Look, I don’t like being in debt to people, and there’s nothing I could possibly do to repay you for this, so just leave me alone.”

Kell glared. “Shut up,” He said firmly, pressing his hand over Holland’s mouth. “I’m doing this because _I_ want to. You don’t owe me anything.”

Holland glared back and knocked Kell’s hand away. “Don’t touch me. Can I just go to sleep, please?”

All he had to do was wait for Kell to pass out again, and then he could get another knife from under the floor. He didn’t even have to go to the beach this time, he could just do it in the kitchen.

Kell gave him a long, hard look, before sighing. “Okay.” He lifted a hand halfway, but stopped. He swallowed, dropped his arm, and turned away towards the spare room.

********

Waiting for an hour wasn’t hard. He hardly slept much anyway, so when he slipped silently into the kitchen, he was certain Kell was dead asleep down the hallway.

Instead, he got down on his hands and knees to pull up the floorboard, and stared down at the now knifeless hollow under the floor. He tilted his head, confused, but then he heard a creak behind him. He looked up to see Kell staring at him with the most wounded-puppy look he’d ever seen.

Holland finally understood.

Kell had talked to him to distract him while Ojka had relocate her blades, and then gone down the hallway to see if Holland would try to take another knife

He wanted to kill someone.

Specifically, himself.

But as he started to get up and leave the room before he could be lectured by Kell’s naitivete, Kell slammed the door shut and blocked the exit, eyes so wounded Holland couldn’t even look away.

“Kell-”

“No.” His voice was low, trembling and quiet. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Get out of my way.”

Kell looked him in the eyes. “No.”

“Move. I’m not going to sit here and listen to your idiocy.”


	9. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kell cries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF-l73qCrgU&feature=youtu.be  
> Little Talks by Of Monsters And Men
> 
> 2) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wpv-vGScrvU  
> Spirits by The Strumbrellas

CONTENT WARNINGS: Depressing exposition, crying, suicidal thoughts, self deprecation.

Kell glared furiously. “Shut up! What is wrong with you? Why won’t you try? It literally hasn’t even been a full day since I got here!”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you!? You know what my life has been like, at least enough to know that I shouldn’t have to be here anymore! I’m tired, Kell, why can’t you let me die?!” Holland’s expression was a cold one, but Kell could see the desperation and fear beneath it. Even though he didn’t see it in his face, Holland’s voice was hoarse and louder than he’d ever heard it and very much not the tone he was used to. 

_“Because you can’t just leave me here!”_

Kell froze, regretting the words the instant they left his tongue.

Holland’s eyes widened a fraction. “What?”

Kell swallowed, averting his own gaze. “You’re not the only one who’s having problems, Holland. Lila is the only one who’s seen what we have, but nothing scares her, so I feel like an idiot telling her what’s wrong with me.”

Neither of them moved, and they were both silent for a moment, before Holland asked, “…And that being?”

“Why do _you_ care?”

_“Kell.”_

Kell swallowed again, but knew he wouldn’t get out of it. “I have nightmares too. I _still_ have the scars on my body from being impaled by that _fucking_ ice spike. I can’t look at myself - face or otherwise - in the mirror, I could barely socialize with anyone before and now I can’t at all unless it’s here, apparently, I can’t even go back to my city because I keep disappointing everyone and nobody cares about me except Rhy!" He was shouting again, and he lowered his voice, one hand clutching his chest. "I already hated almost everything about my life except Lila and my brother, but neither of them want me around anymore.” He swallowed. “Worse, I’m terrified of telling anyone this. Why am I telling you this?” He asked, voice trembling, directing the question more at himself than at Holland.

Kell was shaking, and it took him a moment to realize that tears were spilling out of his eyes. “Sanct.” He rubbed them away, sniffled. “I just… I know it’s selfish, but I’m tired of being alone.” He held his face in his hands. “I thought you were too.”

He let out a breath. “Never mind.” He started to turn away, but a hand caught his arm. He turned to see Holland, who had slipped up to him silently. Always quick, always quiet, magic or no. 

“What?” His voice was shuddering. “You’re angry and don’t want me in here, and while I’m not giving up on you and going home, you- you need your space. Let go of me.”

“Are you giving me space or are you trying to take some yourself?” Holland’s voice was steady and calm, despite the shouting only a few moments ago.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because now it’s my turn.” Kell froze, every muscle in his body going rigid as Holland pulled him into a hug. “You’re shaking too much.” Kell swallowed, trying to not pay too much attention to the deep rumble of Holland’s voice, or the wide arms wrapped around his thin body. _“And_ you’re too tense.” 

Holland had placed one hand on the back of Kell’s head and wrapped the other around his back, effectively trapping him against his own body. Truth be told, Kell could probably get out if he really needed to, even though the use of magic would hurt, but he’d never really been held like this. Queen Emira had only ever hugged him for less than four seconds, Rhy for six, and Maxim hadn’t ever been the kind of person to do touching, which, honestly, was just as well. 

Still, it was depressing that everyone he knew was either too afraid or didn’t like him enough to initiate physical contact, and this was more comforting than he’d ever have expected. Even from Holland.

“Breathe,” Holland muttered into his hair.

Kell swallowed again and managed a couple of shallow breaths before jolting again when Ojka stumbled into the room. 

“Uh, I was... just coming in to check on you two... Have... I interrupted something?”

Kell slipped a hand up in between them to rub at his face as Holland mouthed something at Ojka that he couldn’t make out, since his vision was currently occupied entirely by Holland’s shirt.

“Is that so?” she drawled. Kell could hear the smirk on her mouth. What had Holland mouthed at her? He didn’t care right now. His mind was still too occupied with the steady feeling of Holland’s arms around him. Holland enunciated something else, and Ojka let out a huff. “Go, I won’t stop you.” A pause. “I’m still angry at you, by the way.”

Kell jerked yet again as Holland started to walk him backwards toward the hallway. “What are you doing?”

Holland didn’t reply, just continued moving him across the floor, silent on his feet as always.

“Where are we going?” His voice was shuddering. _“Holland.”_

“Be quiet and calm down.”

Kell felt annoyance rise before he realized where Holland was leading him. “Why are we going to your room?”

Holland tsked. “I said shut up.” Kell started to try and struggle away, but Holland stopped moving him backwards and tightened his hold. “I’m not going to hurt you, just trust me.”

Kell’s mouth twitched, but he stopped fighting. “Like you could.” He was disappointed to find his voice _still_ unsteady.

Holland snorted and continued drawing him backwards until they reached the door, which he nudged open with his foot. “Come on, almost there.” He got them both to the bed and sat down, pulling Kell down next to him. He loosened his hold just a bit, enough so that Kell could pull away and look at him. Holland’s face was carefully blank, but Kell knew that there was more to it than that. There always was.

“Now what? You brought me here for something.” His voice was still quivering, and he glared at his knees, clenching his fists atop them. “Why do you do this? You put up this wall of indifference and say you don’t want me to help you, and then you drag me in _here,_ for what? _Cuddles?_ Stop confusing me.” Now his voice was worse, and he was quaking again. His eyes started to well up.

Holland shrugged. “Why not?” 

Out of nowhere, he wrapped Kell up in his arms again, rolled himself and Kell down into the blankets, and started tracing his fingers over the nape of his neck. 

Kell bit his lip, hands against Holland’s chest. He wasn’t sure if he should push away or not. “This isn’t funny.”

“Have I ever been the kind to play something like this?”

“No, but I just…” He swallowed. “Nobody hugs me. Not like this. _Definitely_ not you.”

Holland was silent for a moment, before asking, “Just how lonely are you?”

Kell wavered. “I-” His voice caught. Honestly, he hadn’t exactly realized how isolated he was. He didn’t have friends. Lila had been the first partner he’d ever had, and that had hardly lasted more than a month or two altogether anyway. He had Rhy, and the shallow warmness of the king and queen. There was Tieren, who had certainly been kind, but once Kell was old enough and powerful enough to protect his brother, he hadn’t been allowed much time with his teacher.

One tear spilled, and then it was over.

His body clenched up and curled into itself, and he started crying quietly, clutching Holland’s shirt. Holland pressed Kell’s head down into his chest by his auburn hair, and pulled his body against his with the other hand on Kell’s back. He started making soft _shh_ noises to the top of Kell’s head, breath warm and calming as he ran his fingers through his hair. This was weird and out of character, but Kell wasn’t exactly going to complain. Not right now. 

“Pretty damn lonely,” He said with a broken laugh. “Nobody gave a fuck about anything I wanted, and I quickly grew to learn that there was n-no reason to try and point it out. They only cared about Rhy, and I, I had to keep pretending that I w-was fine.” He swallowed, trying to relax, but his voice cracked. “I love him too, but it hurt that I didn’t mean anything- I was only there to be a shield for him and my kingdom.” He laughed again. “I told him once, when we were drunk and av-voiding a party, that I felt more like a possession than a prince, and h-he punched me.”

“Siblings are fun.”

Kell didn’t know the story behind that, and he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, so he didn’t ask. “Very,” he replied instead, voice hoarse. 

He was willing to leave it there, but Holland urged him to continue. “Go on.”

Kell didn’t know why he did, but the tears were making it hard to shut up. “I… I just don’t mean anything to anyone. Fine, Rh-Rhy and I care about each other, but in the long run, what does one person mean? What can he _do?_ I’m still fucked up, and you’re the only one who might understand why, because _I_ certainly fucking don’t and you’re even more messed up than me.” He hiccuped. “I’m just… Never happy. Not as much as everyone else. It’s like the ability to feel content is just wired to be harder for me than anyone else.” His voice broke, and a fresh wave of sobs shook his body.

Holland tensed, but Kell didn’t have the energy to read into whatever it meant. Holland didn’t say what it was either, only rubbed his back with one hand. “Hey, shh. It’s okay. What did you mean? When you said I couldn’t leave you here?”

“Pretty much everything I just said. But also… I can’t…” He wavered again. Why was he saying all this? “I can’t just up and- and die either. I’m tied to Rhy. I don’t have a way out. And since _I’m_ beyond help, I’m here, trying- to help you, and in doing so, give myself something to live for, because you don’t care about yourself and m-me and Ojka are the only ones that do.” His voice shook, and the end of the sentence erupted in more sobs.

Holland exhaled, arms relaxing, and he brushed some of Kell’s hair away from his neck. “I knew there was more to it than you were saying when you got here.”

Kell ignored that Holland had figured it out, he just kept going. “Something to think about besides how _badly_ I f-failed in everything. I couldn’t save you, I brought _Vitari_ into my city, the king and queen are d-dead because I left them alone, and Rhy is, is dead too because I wasn’t fast enough. And now you keep trying to die even though I’m here fighting to keep you from doing what I want to, and I feel more useless and _stupid_ than ever!” The tremors wracked his body as tears ran down his face.

Holland squeezed him gently. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“No it’s not. It never is. Not for you, not for me, not for anyone who ever grew up with this stupid eye.” He mumbled the words, tone bitter and breath hitching. “Lila never had to deal with this, it’s why she’s not pessimistic and antisocial to the point of misery the way we are.”

Holland pulled him closer, if that wasn’t already possible. “Shh… Match your breathing to mine.” 

Kell took a deep, shuddering breath, and then another, and another, trying to align his heartbeat with Holland’s slow one. Holland, unsurprisingly, was perfectly calm, at least outwardly. Kell continued inhaling and exhaling until his breathing was somewhat reminiscent of Holland’s, even if it was still unsteady. Holland started gently rubbing his shoulder with the hand that was on his back, apparently not satisfied. “Your heartbeat is still erratic. _Breathe.”_

Kell did, and eventually, between Holland’s slow ministrations, the encouragement in his smooth voice, and Kell’s own intentionally slow breathing, he managed to get back to normal. Well, normal being relative. He now felt embarrassed and tired. He’d used a lot of blood magic in the last two days, and he’d just dropped all the exposition on how terrible he felt all the time onto _Holland,_ who was cuddling him, which was something that rattled one’s brain.

“Better?” He asked.

“Better. Now come on, roll over.”

Kell blinked, but twisted until he was facing the other direction, Holland now at his back. Holland, adding to the list of out of character actions, _snuggled_ \- there was no other word for the action - up behind him, slinging one arm over Kell’s waist and folding himself over him. It felt strange. He had never shared a bed with anyone, much less anyone who possibly would have been this physically intimate with him. But Holland’s form, despite being, well, _Holland’s,_ was wide, and enveloping, and felt… 

Safe.

A moment of silence, before, “It’s okay to be angry, you’re allowed to be upset about what happened to you. You realize you deserve more than that, right?”

Kell frowned. This was surreal. Holland, who had always hated him because he and his world got the short end of the stick, was telling him he deserved better.

“Why are you doing this?”

“...Several reasons. For now, let’s just agree that we both need it tonight.”

Kell swallowed back a dry smile. “Are _you_ admitting aloud that you need something?”

Holland let out a soft huff. “Maybe,” he replied, tired amusement lacing his otherwise steady voice. 

“That’s new.”

Holland didn’t say anything for a while, and Kell was nearly about to start dozing off, but he felt the need to apologize. "I'm sorry. This isn't your problem, I'm here to help you, not drop my own issues onto your life." The apology was a whisper, and he curled inwards slightly, trying to make himself smaller.

Just when he though Holland wasn't going to say anything, he heard the bigger man mutter a couple sentences.

He blinked sleepily. “What?”

“Hvað? Skítt, I- I said that I-” He hesitated, and Kell wondered if he had even actually repeated what he had said or if he was trying to avoid talking about something. “I said… I’ll try. I’ll try to- to stay here and work on this with you, just as long as you don’t…” He stopped again, considering his words. “Don’t make yourself miserable over my problems.”

Kell almost snorted. Like there was any hope of _that._

“And,” Holland added, after another moment of thought, “don’t go and die, yourself, either. Not for the sake of your brother, but for your own. If you’re trying to give me something to live for, find something for yourself as well. Something you want.” 

_Well, there’s_ you, _for one,_ Kell thought, before flushing.

He bit his lip. “I can try.”

“I will so long as you do.”

With that, Holland shifted up against his back, tightening the arm over his waist. Kell didn’t know if it was for his own sake or Holland's, but he knew that Holland was done talking for the night. He didn’t push it, only felt the drowsiness to creep up on him, pulling him into a dreamless sleep.


	10. What Am I Doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Holland pities and ponders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=506k3_V4z7o  
> I See You by MISSIO

Kell finally fell asleep, and Holland sighed. 

What was he doing? This was going to come back and bite him in the ass, and he knew it, but he was also finding it hard to care. Kell was more broken than he’d realized.

Something else he realized with sudden horrifying clarity, was _nothing he disliked about Kell was his fault._

He'd always kind of known that in the back of his mind, but he'd never really _thought_ about it.

Holland had used to dislike Kell for some of the same reasons he liked him. He smelled like sweet, healthy flowers. He was always warm, physically and emotionally; to Holland at least. He was sarcastic and sometimes funny. He was sweet to Holland despite all he’d done. He didn’t smile often, so when he did, Holland’s throat constricted, making him feel in a way that he hadn’t since Talya.

But there were things he’d _really_ hated, which he now hated himself for since he had been blaming Kell for these things when they hadn’t been his fault. It wasn’t Kell’s fault he was born in a place with power. It wasn’t his fault he was born in the London that had cut his own off from magic. It wasn’t Kell’s fault he had a brother that didn’t hate him for his abilities. It wasn’t his fault he wasn't covered in scars. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been broken down to pieces and rebuilt to be a monster.

Holland had never had to worry about parents. He didn’t remember much of his mother, and he remembered even less of his father. Kell had been taken away from his family and given to the king and queen, who used him only as something to prove their strength to the other kingdoms, knowing that Kell wasn’t going to leave his brother. His princely title was honorary. The king and queen obtained him at a young age - Holland didn’t know exactly when, just that they’d met when Kell was hardly a teen - told him he was their son, and then proceeded to destroy his self esteem by turning him into nothing more than a guard for several years. 

Being taken in by people who only wanted to use you was something Holland understood. Kell had been trapped, very effectively, not by cell, or by curse, or by chain, but by love and guilt, which was worse, because then you had nobody to blame but yourself.

Kell sobbing in his arms about how he had never really been loved was something that twisted Holland’s heart. He felt... _pity_ for the young _Antari._

Part of him hated it. At least he’d had the ability to go outside without the fear of being attacked. At least he hadn’t been constantly lured into false security by people who only intended to stab him in his sleep.

But part of him wanted to try and help. It was infuriating. It was _terrifying._

Especially because now Holland was starting to feel tired too. Drowsiness pulled at his eyes, and his mind, and Kell was warm against his chest, and-

And the last time he’d trusted someone enough to let them near him as he fell asleep, there had been a knife an inch deep into his chest, and the time before that, there had been a knife in his arm, not to mention all the years after both when Athos Dane had slipped into his room and woken him with blades and words and beatings.

This was a bad idea.

 _What am I doing?_ He thought again.

He had been so comfortable with Kell tucked into him that when Kell apologized for telling Holland about his problems, he’d switched to Maktahn when he said _Haltu kjafti, ást. Ég hef reynt áður og mér hefur mistekist áður. Þú þurftir meira á þessu að halda en ég. Farðu bara að sofa, elskug_ without thinking. 

Kell had already started to fall asleep, so he’d been too tired to translate the Maktahn. Hopefully. If he’d known the embarrassing terms of endearment Holland had used, he’d done a good job of playing it off.

He wanted so badly to shake Kell awake and tell him everything, but Kell was handling his own brokenness and it wasn’t his job to deal with any of this. He wanted to wake Kell up and kiss him, but Kell didn’t like him like that. He wanted to let himself care and be cared about, but every time he had let himself love someone, he’d gotten his heart broken. 

In that, at least, he understood Lila. She hated caring, and it might have been why she and Kell had left each other. Having vulnerability was dangerous. It got you killed.

But Kell was right here. Sound asleep.

Holland lifted his head a couple of inches and looked at Kell’s face. His red hair was falling into his face, his breathing slow. His eyes were red from tears, but even his constant frown was gone and his shoulders were relaxed. The crying had done him some good. But if he guessed right, Kell would be tired and snappish in the morning after having been so honest with someone, so he’d have to be patient and calm until he got out his leftover frustration.

He dropped his head back down, inhaling the scent of flowers that followed Kell wherever he went, no matter how long he was away from his city.

“Vinsamlegast ekki drepa mig í svefni. Ég gæti komist í burtu, Ojka er ennþá hér ... En ég gat ekki tekið það ef þú brast á mér líka.” 

He brushed Kell’s hair with his lips, voice low, counting on the fact that Kell, if he was awake, was too tired to translate what he was saying. “ð sem mér þykir vænt um lengur, en hún ... ég veit að hún myndi aldrei ráðast á mig. Þú og ég höfum barist svo lengi að ég veit ekki lengur hvort þú lýgur að umhyggju.” 

His voice cracked, just another damn sign of weakness, and he buried his face in Kell’s hair. “Og það er mér að kenna, því ég gaf þér aldrei tækifæri.” He took a deep breath. “Og mér þykir þetta svo leitt.”

Kell shifted and Holland froze, terrified that Kell had been awake and listening to him ramble with a shaking voice, or worse, that he’d understood the other language, but Kell was just moving his arm to rest his head on his elbow. He mumbled something incoherently, and then, in Arnesian, said, “Shut up, Rhy. ‘M not leaving him.”

Holland closed his eyes at the stupidity of the situation. Here he was, apologizing for being terrified of vulnerability to an unconscious person. To _Kell Maresh,_ who wasn’t giving up on him, even in his sleep.

Speaking of sleep, Holland could hardly keep his eyes open. He bowed his head against Kell’s shoulders, swallowing against the thick smell of flowers. “Ég vil treysta þér. Ekki meiða mig.”

With that, he allowed his exhaustion from the last couple of days to drag him under.


	11. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two sad men stare at the sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xXFdnHiGwos  
> Come Out And Play by Billie Eilish

The next morning, Kell found the space in the bed beside him cold and empty. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, yawning, and got up to open the bedroom door.

The house was quiet. A bird chirped outside, sunlight drifting through the window of the room in front of him. It was strange, such warmness being here in this world. Ojka had been right, magic was coming back. _Life_ was coming back. It was slow, but sure.

He felt drained. That was the thing when it came to being honest about your feelings and letting yourself get worked up; you always felt numb and exhausted afterwards. It wasn’t a feeling he liked.

Wait. Fuck. Holland wasn’t in the bed. What if he lied? What if he left? What if he found another knife? What if he’d- Nevermind that. Where _was_ he?

“Holland?” he called, poking his head down the hallway. “...Holland?” He felt something press at his chest as he made his way through the rooms of the house. _“Holland!”_

“Calm down, I’m out here.” Holland, to the abatement of Kell’s anxieties, was drinking coffee on the porch. “I didn’t go anywhere. Breathe,” he said as Kell stepped out into the cold morning air. Kell shivered, breath turning to steam in front of him, but he sat down next to Holland, heartbeat calming immediately. 

After a short moment of silence, Holland nudged him, eyes on something in the distance, and Kell snapped his gaze over to him, eyes slightly wide. “What?”

“The sun’s out.”

It was true. There were rays of sunlight peeking through the trees as the sun rose slowly, the light shining through green leaves making them look bright and almost unnaturally healthy. The sun was still a little low in the sky, its glow tinged orange, and it hit the clouds to make them look purple and golden.

He didn’t see weather like this often, let alone in this world. White London was always cloudy, everything in Red London was tinged pink from the light of the river, and Grey London was usually overcast, raining, or snowing whenever he visited. This was a nice change, and he knew Holland appreciated it more than he ever could.

Kell’s eyes softened as he looked. “Yes it is.” 

Holland, eyes still on the trees, pushed a second mug of not coffee, but tea, over to him, and he gratefully accepted it. He didn’t even bother wondering how Holland knew he’d prefer tea over coffee, so he asked something else that was on his mind. “I know Grey London and Red are somewhat lined up season wise, but are yours and mine?” Kell carefully avoided using the word _white,_ since he had the sneaking suspicion it would annoy the man beside him.

“Yes. It’s early spring right now.”

Kell studied his face. Holland was looking straight ahead, eyes raw. Had he cried when he came out here to see this? Kell wanted to ask, but Holland looked emotional, which was something he didn’t want him to shut off, and whatever it was, he showed no signs of looking away. Instead, he queried, “Any nightmares?” 

“No.”

“Are you feeling better?” he asked. 

Holland didn't look over. He kept his eyes on the trees. “Are _you?”_

Kell pursed his lips. “Is that _concern_ I'm still getting?” he asked, trying to change the subject. 

Holland didn’t look over at him, just said, “Why are you dodging the question?” His tone wasn’t accusatory or defensive, simply curious, and it irked Kell more than it probably should have, but at the moment he didn’t care. 

“Why are _you?”_ he shot back. Holland merely sipped his coffee. 

A hot rage coursed through Kell’s veins for about two seconds, until it ebbed away completely, like someone had placed a cup over a candle. “Nevermind,” he muttered, lifting his drink up to his lips. He sipped his tea, scowling into the reflective light of the liquid.

He didn’t even know why he’d snapped. Possibly he was just trying to make up for last night’s vulnerability, subconsciously trying to make things normal again.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, before Holland set his mug down. He still didn’t look over, but when he spoke, his voice was clear. “I meant what I said. About trying.”

Kell swallowed. “So did I.”

“Good.” His voice was softer than Kell expected. “I also meant my question. Are you okay?”

Kell set his tea down and moved to lie back so his feet were still on the steps but the rest of him was laying on the porch. He folded his hands over his waist. “Not really, but I’m feeling a little less weighed down by everything than usual. Kind of wrung out.” 

“Fair enough. You’ve used a lot of magic in the last two days, especially for someone who had most of it torn away from him.” Kell blinked. He hadn’t told anyone that it hurt. Then again, Holland was very observant, and he _had_ told Kell that he was bad at hiding his emotions. “Not to mention that blood magic is already plenty draining.” He tapped his arm where Kell could see. “How’s your wrist?”

Kell glanced at the bandages peeking out from under his own sleeve. “It hurts, but only a bit. I heal slower now, but still faster than normal people.”

Holland took another drink. “You shouldn’t have cut so deep if your healing has slowed down.”

Kell shrugged against the wood. “What about you? You did lose quite a bit of blood.”

Holland looked down at his arms, where Kell knew his scars were webbed across him like a second skin underneath his sleeves. “I believe I’ll manage.”

Kell’s throat constricted, and he swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that he knew was going to make his voice hoarse. “Can-” his voice broke, and he stopped, sitting up on his elbows, looking at his lap. “Can I hug you again?” 

Holland’s breath caught in front of him, and Kell flinched. “You- you don’t need to, I just... Last night was complicated, and I know you probably don’t like touching, and I’m trying not to overstep boundaries but you’re the one who almost died and I’m the one who ended up getting all-”

“Yes.” Holland didn’t move, he didn’t turn, and his voice was raised only just enough to interrupt him. He just sat there, form silhouetted by the sunrise in front of them. Kell bit his lip, but sat up and scooted over so that their shoulders were brushing. He looped one arm around Holland’s back and curled into him, and then jumped when Holland lifted his own arm around his shoulders, nudging Kell’s head sideways so it rested against his own.

“...I didn’t expect a response.”

“I can tell.” Holland tugged Kell in closer and closed his eyes, and whispered, “I didn’t know.”

Kell chewed his lower lip again. “I’ve never told anyone that much.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Kell made a face, but didn’t look up. “Why are you apologizing? I’m not _half_ as fucked up as you.”

“I’m older, and you know where I’m from. I never really expected pity as I was growing up, since it wasn’t too different from anyone else I knew at the time, and then… well, during my time with the Danes, the… expectation, the _ability_ to want something _better_ was beaten away.” 

As Kell was about to start saying sorry, Holland rubbed his thumb against Kell’s shoulder, and it was such a small movement Kell almost didn’t notice it. 

“Calm down. My point is that we had different experiences, and different ways of handling it. Your pain is no less valid than my own just because I’ve been through more. The majority of mine was from people that didn’t know me, but the majority of yours was from alleged parents who raised you to be a protector instead of son.” His voice quieted. “I think you might have had it just as bad, just in a different way.”

Kell leaned slightly into Holland, just a little more, and said, voice barely audible, “Can we stumble through this together, then? We’re both broken and irreparable, not to mention dejected from society. We can’t go back home, either of us, and I’m not entirely sure _I_ want to. If you let me try with you, I’ll let you try with me.” He hesitated. “That is- If you want, I don’t know if this is-”

Holland pinched his shoulder before tugging him by the waist further into the sideways hug. “Shut up.”

“...Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short break from chapters, maybe a few weeks. Most of this was pre-written, so I have to edit the upcoming chapters until they're satisfactory.


	12. The Scene We Never Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I give you my idea of what happened when Kell came to take Holland to Jasta's ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/l1CnRob3yJE  
> Bury A Friend by Billie Eilish

Holland kept slipping.

It didn’t matter how much he dug his wrists into the edges of his manacles, it didn’t matter how much he tried to focus on the sharp cold of the cell, his mind kept sliding to terrible places.

Before, it had been about Athos and Astrid, and Talya, and even so far back as Alox, and everyone else on his list alongside the people who had mattered more to him in one way or another. But now, after he had fallen into the river, and after Kell had jumped in after him without hesitation, all he could think about was what Osaron had said to him in the water.

When he had made a column of air for Kell and Delilah, he had mouthed at her, _Get him out._

He hadn’t been able to tell at the time if she’d understood, if she’d even seen. Instead, his head had been forced back to look Osaron’s shadowy form in the eyes. It was a faint outline of darker shadow against the already black river, but he’d have recognized the feel of those eyes anywhere.

 _“Well that’s interesting,”_ Osaron had said into his mind. _“I had bet that he’d come to save you, not that you’d come back to save him in turn.”_

Holland had glared at the eyes, before stealing a glance back at Lila, who looked lost. She hadn’t heard Osaron. More importantly, she didn’t know how to get Kell off the floor of the river.

His chest stuttered, his hands shook from the force of holding the river, and his mind screamed as Osaron scoured his brain for the reason that he’d come back down for Kell. 

When the _oshoc_ found it, he’d grinned. _“How dramatic.”_ He spoke like it was a comment between two teenage friends, not between a monster and a man. _“I’m surprised you managed to keep_ that _from me for so long. Should I tell him?”_

Panic clawed at him, but he had been saved from any further comments by Lila shoving the river out, widening the circle so that he was inside the column as well. Kell had lifted them up on a platform, and Lila had pressed a knife to his neck.

Strangely enough, Kell had tried to call her off.

Why had he done it?

Holland thought Kell hated him, but the complete idiot had jumped in after him immediately. He'd warped the chains even after Holland had shook his head, he'd used what little air he'd recovered to try and have Lila remove her blade... Why? Kell had not only risked his own life, but Rhy's as well.

If Kell _wasn't_ thinking of Rhy's safety during a dangerous situation, then something was wrong with the world.

Holland couldn't wrap his head around it. What was he missing?

He was snapped out of his thoughts by footsteps echoing down the hallway towards his cell. As the steps got closer, he realized it was Kell. He hadn’t called for him this time, why was he here? Surely he hadn’t come to say thank you.

Kell strolled into the room, a determined look on his face. The guards tensed, no doubt having heard of the ones who had come to mess with Holland before, and how Kell had reacted.

Holland ignored them. “What is it?”

“Get up.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“We’re leaving.” The guards looked at each other before slowly backing out of the room. They knew better than to assume that Kell had come here without permission from the king, but they also didn’t want to be here for this in case it got aggressive.

Holland tilted his head slightly. “Where?”

“The docs.” The exchange was clipped. Kell was annoyed about something.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you abandoning your city?”

Kell frowned. “Not quite. Come on.” He reached for the cell door, and Holland immediately shifted backwards on instinct.

Kell froze. “Sorry.”

Holland glared and tried to change the subject. _“Where_ are we going?”

“I told you, the docs.”

“And where are we going once we’re on a boat?”

“It’s complicated.” Kell gave Holland a pointed glance. “And I have no intention of arming you with information.”

Holland gave him a dry look as he tried to open the cell door with a ring of keys. “Delilah won’t appreciate my presence.”

Kell paused and looked up from the keys, which were jammed. “How did you know she’s going to be there?”

Holland kept his composure despite the bitter taste the words left in his mouth. “Because you’re obvious, and wouldn’t leave her here under any circumstances.” 

Kell made a mildly indignant noise as he finally got the lock open. “And how is that any of your business?” He sounded defensive, and Holland could swear he sounded a little embarrassed, too. If he was in a lighter mood, he might have tried to get more of a reaction out of him, but he was still conflicted over his own feelings, and he didn’t want to risk exposing himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about the river; how little time it had taken for Kell to dive in after him, and what that meant.

“You asked.”

Kell approached him and stood there, looking down. “So I did.” He knelt, holding out the ring of keys and selecting one. “For what it’s worth,” he murmured, avoiding eye contact as he unchained Holland’s manacles from the floor, “I’m not leaving you here either.”

The latches to the floor fell away and Holland felt blood rush to his head, a combined elation and confusion at what Kell might have been implying hitting him so hard it felt like a punch to the gut. He got unsteadily to his feet, partially from the weight of the chains and partially from the mass of barely leashed confessions on his tongue, and he carefully examined Kell’s face while keeping his own blank. 

Kell had taken his advice and was actually controlling his expression rather well. Annoying timing, but it hardly mattered. 

“Let’s go,” the younger man mumbled.

Holland followed him up the stairs and into the palace, wondering if Kell had ever actually hated him.


	13. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Holland receives a book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BeGU_em4wgQ  
> Hello My Old Heart by The Oh Hellos

Two weeks after the beach incident, Kell had formed a routine. 

He would go back to Arnes every Friday, leaving Ojka to watch Holland, and would make sure that none of his plants or animals had died. He would spend two full days there and come back on Sunday morning, and stay in White the rest of the week. 

Once he arrived back in White, he’d make a meal for the three of them - although Ojka was usually out doing who knew what by the time he arrived - and then he’d take a nap. When he woke up, he’d try to get Holland to make dinner with him (he’d only succeeded once so far), and then he’d go to his own room. 

The following days before he left again were spent trying to engage Holland in activities such as leaving the house or having conversations, except for Tuesdays and Fridays, which is when he walked down to the nearby market. 

It was called the _Vaknað Líf_ market, and it was strange, all the string lights yellow and all the people smiling. There was easy chatter and the slow bustle of people buying food from stands, friends laughing, lovers meeting. 

Holland refused to go, and Ojka preferred to stay near the house where she could keep guard, so Kell went by himself and was even starting to truly enjoy the visits.

Nearly every night Kell had to ease Holland out of nightmares, and he really hadn’t minded too much before, but he himself was starting to get eyebags, and it was harder to go from world to world on little sleep. On Saturday night, he grabbed one of the several bottles of Tieren’s tonics and tossed it into the large bag before he collapsed into bed.

By the middle of the second week, Holland told Kell to start bringing his own articles of clothing, as up until then he had been borrowing Holland’s stuff. Holland oddly had a lot of clothes, so Kell didn’t really know why it was something he wanted him to do. When he’d asked, Holland had grumbled something along the lines of _Better safe than sorry._ Kell didn’t know what that meant, but he’d packed a bag of clothes for when he left in the morning. 

Holland also, despite what Kell had assumed, didn’t like being left alone. He was quiet and solitary for most of the time they’d known each other, but now he tried to keep Kell in the room with him whenever he could. Having Ojka there helped, but if he was left in a room by himself for long enough, he’d call out for one of the two of them, and they’d have to go talk to him. Because of this, if they had to do something in another part of the house, they’d make sure to be noisy so that Holland knew where they were so he could call out to them if he needed to.

As of week three, as Kell was grabbing the things he’d need last-minute before he traveled back to Makt (some food he’d grown, a little bit of meat from the market, some paper, etc.), when his attention snagged on a book. 

It was small, maybe four by six inches, but several hundred pages long. 

It was a favorite, one he’d reread many times, and one of the few smuggled things he’d taken with him to his palace rooms instead of the Ruby Fields. He smiled, and grabbed it right before he headed to the wall. 

Kell’s little country getaway wasn’t at the same place in White London’s world as it was in Red’s, so he couldn’t just step through the wall here and show up in Holland’s house. 

To travel between two points in the same world, you had to either be going to a person using something that belonged to them, or you had to have both points have the same marking (in Antari blood) on the walls or surfaces of where you were coming in and going out. 

But to travel from one world to the next, it didn’t matter where you wanted to go, if you made a door in one world, you were coming out at the exact same point in the other world. So since he didn’t want to have a routine spot where he was frequently seen in the White world (someone was bound to notice), he went from the wall at his house to a local grain field, the same spot in his world where Holland’s house would be in White.

It was draining, and painful now, using magic to go through doors, but he had to at this point for Holland. He slipped through the wall with the words, _“As Tascen,” transfer._ He emerged from the wall of the largest farm building here, sheltered by a roof, and made his way to the nearest tree. The blood marking from his last door wasn’t there any more. There must have been rain.

He pressed his bloody hand to the tree. _“As Travars,”_ he said, _travel,_ and he tumbled through the dark.

He stumbled out of the wall of the house into the front yard, and landed on his knees. Blood magic now was agonizing, and he was grateful that he only had to do it once a week at the most. He got to his feet, rubbed his temples, and went inside. There was fresh water and bandages on the table next to the door, set out for him ahead of time. He wondered, briefly, if it was Ojka or Holland who left them there every week.

He set his bags down, took off his coat, slipped his shoes off, and smiled to himself. Kell was weirdly comfortable in this house he didn’t know, in the world that had tried to kill him more often than was really healthy. 

The walls of the house were dark wood, the floors polished. Whoever had lived here had been rich enough to afford things with darkness and color, which took a lot of dye here, and most of the furniture was either black or had actual soft fabric, dark but still saturated with color. It was definitely odd, but it reminded him just a little of home, just enough that he didn’t miss it as much as he felt he should have.

He cleaned the wound at the table and moved from the front room (it was also weirdly large for what was supposed to be only a cabin, but it had two floors and a lot of space) to the sitting room where he’d first seen Holland. Ojka was lounging sideways in a chair, sharpening a knife. 

_Still Makt,_ he thought to himself.

He knocked on the door frame to get her attention, and when she looked up, she only pointed down the hallway before returning to her blade.

He didn’t know whether to be embarrassed that she immediately knew he was looking for Holland, or to worry that it was so obvious. He settled for a mildly amused resignation, and headed down the hall, trailing two fingers against the wood of the wall as he walked.

Holland was lying flat on his bed, hands clasped over his chest, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t look over when Kell came in, but it was clear he knew he was there. Even _with_ magic, Holland wasn’t an easy person to sneak up on.

The room was large enough for a bed that was big enough for two, a desk, a couple of chairs, a trunk, and a bookshelf that had nothing on it.

“Hello,” Kell said in Maktahn.

“Hello.” Holland still didn’t look over.

 _“Ös-vo tach?”_ Kell asked. _Are you busy?_

The other man sighed. _“Vos och?”_ _What is it?_

“I have stuff for you. But first, how have you been?”

Now Holland looked at him, a dry look on his face. “You were gone for _three_ days.”

“And you, apparently, are easily depressed,” Kell returned smartly. 

It was usually like this. Kell would come in, he’d ask Holland how he was, Holland would reply with a cynical remark, and Kell would feign exasperation. It was becoming familiar, which was almost as strange as the standalone fact that he was living in a house in White London’s world with _Holland and Ojka._

Holland sat up, doing his best to look irritated, but Kell could see the hint of a smile in the corner of his eye. “I’m fine. What did you bring back?”

Kell had picked up the habit of bringing things back to do, as the place they were living in was full of comfort but nothing entertaining. “Mostly the usual, but as for extras, I grabbed some paper, a couple of books, and medicine.”

“Why medicine?”

“Because you still wake up almost screaming every night.”

Holland rolled his eyes and fell back on the bed. “Your point?”

“As much as I worry about you, I need sleep too, and I can’t be there to calm you down every time. Specifically, when I’m not here. Ojka told me you asked her to not even try to wake her up on the days that I’m gone. What is that about?”

Holland said nothing.

Kell sighed. “The point is, I’m unable to help you every night, despite how much I want to be able to.”

He was going to say more, but Holland cut him off. “I never asked you to be here, and if it’s that bothersome then go home.” He was staring at the ceiling again, tone bored. Kell knew he was faking it to salvage dignity, but he still pursed his lips.

“You know me well enough that you should know I’m not going to go anywhere, so unruffle your ruffled feathers.” 

Holland snorted. 

“My point, Holland, is that I think you should try this tonight. It’s helped me before, and I know it helped Rhy while we were gone. Tieren makes it himself, and it really does work.”

“...He’s the priest, right?”

“Yes.”

Holland rolled over on the bed so he was facing Kell, white hair falling into both green eyes. He didn’t bother to push it away. “What does it do?” It wasn’t an affirmation, but it was a start.

Kell held out the bottle. “One drop for general relaxation, like if you’re tense or anxious, two is for getting rid of any and all unnecessary energy to quiet your mind so you can just lie down and maybe read, and three is for deep dreamless sleep. That last one can make you sluggish afterwards, just so you know. No more than four drops a day. Any more than that could actually put you in a coma or kill you, _especially_ now that you’re human, so I’ll have Ojka set up the doses according to how you’re feeling on the days that I’m gone.” 

“You still think I want to die.” It wasn’t a question. Holland wasn’t stupid, and Kell knew that he had figured out what he meant by having Ojka keep track of the bottle.

“Don’t you?” Kell remembered the two of them at the beach, Holland yelling at him as he was being healed.

“Only a little.”

“A little is all it takes, believe me. Ojka gets the bottle.” He was firm, using a little of his royal authoritativeness without realizing.

Holland blew out a breath, air ruffling his white hair out of his eyes for a moment before it fell back into place. “I’ll try it.”

Kell felt the corner of his mouth turn up, and Holland left his gaze on the smile for half a second before rolling again onto his back. Kell only just barely caught the look, but he dismissed it as his thoughts being more hopeful than strictly necessary.

“Now that that’s settled, I have another idea.”

Holland turned just his head to look at Kell. “Oh dear.”

“Shut up, I’m serious.” Holland gestured with his hand, like, _Go on,_ so Kell continued. “I know that you aren’t really someone who talks about emotions or opens up to people, so I thought that you could start with something smaller.” 

“What are you, my therapist?” They had been speaking in Holland’s language - they alternated languages now because Holland generally had needed to speak Arnesian or English whenever they’d interacted and Kell wanted him to feel more comfortable - but he’d had to take the last word from Kell’s. 

_Lorem._

Therapists, therapy in general as a concept didn’t really exist in Holland’s world, whereas Red London’s world had a system of diagnoses and mental care for people who weren’t neurotypical. Holland no doubt found the idea absurd, but Kell was sticking to his morals and minor clinical education.

Kell drummed his fingers on the desk absently. “No, but I _am_ here to help you.”

Holland heaved a sigh. “Fine, elaborate.”

Kell’s mouth quirked again. “I think you should read.” 

Before Holland could ask what that meant, Kell held up a finger. “I’m not pressuring you to tell me about any of what’s happening in your head, although I personally think it _would_ help. You can tell me about that on your own time if you ever feel the need to. Instead, I’m suggesting something that will help _distract_ you from your dreams and whatever your brain does when you’re alone.” He let his hand drop. “I brought you a book.” 

Holland propped himself up on one elbow and watched as Kell pulled the small book from his coat pocket and held it out to him. “It’s written in Arnesian, so it might be a little weird at first, but I was thinking I’d give you something to think about besides your trauma and inner mental turmoil.”

“Why a book, what does that have to do with my dreams?” Holland looked skeptical, but also slightly intrigued, so Kell carried on. 

Kell handed it to him. “It’s one of my personal favorites. It has a completely different set of magic rules and ideas than our worlds, with shapeshifting and mind reading and illusions and such instead of manipulation of the elements and blood and bodies. _Antari_ don’t even exist.” 

Some of the concepts are a little dark, but I thought you could read a chapter or two, and maybe if you felt like it you could either talk to me about what you felt on it, or write those thoughts down. Why you thought the actions someone took were stupid, speculate on plot, or anything else that comes to mind. You can write in Maktahn, because I’m sure it’s easier, and I can give you feedback. And I’ll only spoil things if you ask me to.”

Holland turned the book over in his hands. “How many pages is this thing?”

“I believe… five hundred and fifty six.”

Holland checked the back of the book, and blinked. “Correct. And how many times have you read it?” He examined the cover, as it was worn and some of the seal was peeling away on the spine.

“A few. There’s two more, if it interests you.”

“Bookworm,” Holland muttered, sitting up again to read the cover. It was strange though, his voice had no bite. He almost sounded… fond. Kell ignored it.

“Anyway,” Kell said, “I should go get started on making food. Feel free to start the book whenever you like, get used to the writing style and language before I start annoying you about the speculative bit.” He paused at the doorway when Holland’s head snapped up. 

Right. He didn’t like being alone. 

“Relax,” Kell said. “Ojka’s just down the hallway.”

Holland nodded and Kell left him staring at the pages.


	14. Orange Juice Isn't Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Holland admits something (but not what you want him to)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-itZVX-SUkI  
> Lemon Boy by Cavetown

Kell returned almost an hour later, carrying a tray that held two plates, two cups, and two small bowls with food that could only have been from the red world. Both plates held a sandwich and a small pile of fruit, and in the bowls was what smelled like chicken broth. The glasses had an odd-looking yellow liquid that he hadn’t seen before. 

Holland spared a small moment of irritation for the fact that Kell wasn’t making things with resources from Makt, but he brushed it off.

“Interesting meal,” he said as Kell pulled a chair out and set the tray on the table.

Kell shrugged, then gestured at the book. “How far are you?”

Holland checked the page. “Fifty-three.”

Kell considered for a moment. “Rathekrel?”

Holland blinked, and glanced at the paragraph he was on. 

The character the chapter was following, Alara, was some kind of winged creature called a dragon. He was still sort of unclear on what that was, but she had broken into House Rathekrel, home to an elven lord of that name (he was still figuring out what an elf was too, but apparently it was some kind of humanoid monster that was very powerful, and it was very clear from the writing that it wasn’t just a human with magic), and she had messed with his plans to marry an elven lady by pretending to be said woman with shapeshifting magic (also a new idea) and was currently eavesdropping as Rathekrel called another elven lord to try and figure out what had happened. 

Kell had apparently become so familiar with the book as to know the general point in the pages where something happened. “You have read this far too many times.”

“Take that back!” Kell seemed indignant. Holland gave him a look, and Kell sighed. “Fine, yes, maybe I read too much. But is that such a bad thing?”

Holland chuckled, amused, and immediately regretted it when Kell looked at him in astonishment. 

“...Yes?” 

“You… _laughed.”_

Holland felt one eye twitch. “And?”

“And you can’t tell me that you laugh often, if ever. Whenever you’ve laughed, or even smiled, it’s always been dry, or forced, or humorless, but that was an _honest laugh.”_ Kell looked bewildered. “...I made you laugh.” 

He was gaping at Holland, who now couldn’t decide whether he wanted to pounce on Kell or smack him. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Holland?”

Holland rolled his eyes. “He died when _you_ of all people moved in with him and started making his meals.”

Kell’s brows furrowed. “Since when are you capable of humor?”

Holland tensed lightly, but he knew Kell wasn’t intending to make a jab. “Who says it’s humor?”

Kell folded his arms across his chest, one eyebrow raised. “Seriously, what caused this?” His voice was honest and passive, so Holland opened his mouth, but stopped.

He hesitated, heart stiffening. If he said it, it would sting, because he knew it’d never go past that, and Kell would freak out at the statement, but if he didn’t say it Kell would bother him until he did. 

He sighed, looking at the floor. “You-” He hesitated, sighing when he finally continued. “You became... my friend. Someone I’m comfortable being around,” he finished with a wince.

Kell said nothing, but Holland didn’t look at him until he saw Kell move from the chair in his peripheral vision. He glanced up to see a smudge of red, and then he felt Kell’s arms hugging him. 

He remembered, absently, when Kell had first opened his arms to Holland’s tired form, saying, _Come on Holland, when do you get hugs?_ Now he was getting them a lot more than he’d ever expected to from... well, _anyone,_ let alone the ginger prince of the other London. 

“Kell, get off me.”

Kell gave a soft exhale of relief into his hair that was almost a laugh, and Holland felt the warm air from his breath tickle his neck. He retreated to resting his hands on Holland’s shoulders, kneeling in front of him and Holland nearly _did_ pounce on Kell at the sight of his face. 

Kell was _beaming_ at him. 

It... did kill him a little on the inside, knowing that being friends made him this happy, because he knew Kell would never want more than that, and that he would have to live with it. But on the other hand, Kell smiling like that was adorable and sweet, and Holland himself almost smiled at knowing that he had caused it.

Now it was Holland’s turn. “And what have _you_ done with _Kell?_ The Kell _I_ know doesn’t smile. Not like that.”

Kell’s grin spread. “He died when you started responding to him.” He crushed Holland back into another hug, a short one, but startling nonetheless. “I know you’re going to hate it, but this is progress.”

Holland tilted his head, looking down at him. “A laugh is progress?”

“With all of your mental walls and trauma, _fuck_ yes. It’s not just because you’re slightly happier than usual, but because you’re _showing_ it. And it’s not even the laugh, it’s that you called me your friend, someone you’re comfortable showing your feelings around. You admitted it _aloud._ I doubt you’ve allowed yourself to have many of those people, which means that this is important.” 

Holland was about to start on about how not showing his feelings and avoiding people had protected him his whole life, but Kell evidently already knew what he was going to say and stopped him. 

“There’s no threat anymore.”

The words hung in the air in front of him as if dangled on a string, and he looked tiredly at the floor, resting his head on one hand. Holland knew it in the back of his mind, but he hadn’t really thought about it or taken the concept seriously. “We don’t know that for sure, and-” he started, but Kell cut him off again.

“No, listen to me. There’s nothing left for us to do. The Danes are dead, _Vitari_ is gone, we beat Osaron, I freed you, and your world is slowly coming back to full health. And even if something does come up, we’re no longer responsible for anything. We’re not... _obligated_ to do anything. You’ve lost all your power, and I don’t have much of my own. We’re _finished,_ Holland.” 

Holland looked back up at him. Kell was looking at him with sentiment and an annoyingly prominent goodness in his eyes that was so sweet it almost made him sick. He might have feelings for the imbecile, but the constant tenderness could be a little much sometimes. 

Kell was actually right though, and was looking at him hopefully, waiting for an answer. He lifted his hands to Kell’s, and took them off his shoulders to rest in his lap. He didn’t let go. 

“Thanks,” he muttered tiredly under his breath. He hated this feeling, this… vulnerability that Kell could now draw out of him. It terrified him. But he didn’t want to run away from it either. Not now.

Kell squeezed his hands and folded their fingers together, but paused, as if he were thinking about something. Whatever he’d wanted to say or do, he didn’t, only let go, retreated to sit at the table, and picked up his sandwich. Holland missed the warmth of Kell’s hands, but didn’t show it.

He watched Kell for a short moment, and noticed that he looked mildly reserved, drawn into himself. He’d stopped talking, and was now staring at his food without actually eating it.

Holland also hated that now he was constantly owing Kell. He internally groaned. 

“...What’s wrong?”

Kell’s head snapped up, like he’d been completely lost in thought, and brushed it off. “Nothing,” he said, voice just the barest bit shaky. 

“Kell, don’t lie to me.”

Kell grumbled something and looked away.

 _“Kell.”_

That was another thing that was odd. Kell had been living with him, and Holland had been relaxed, and they had been mostly alone for long enough, and a large collection of other things combined had caused him to want… to want to help Kell in return. It was uncanny, especially because Holland had never really been a kind person.

“It’s not important.”

Holland looked dryly at him, and was about to continue asking when Kell picked up one of the unfamiliar yellow drinks.

He sighed. “Kell-”

Kell held out the cup. “I don’t think you guys get oranges here, but this is orange juice.”

Holland bit his tongue. Kell was trying to distract him, and he wanted to find out what was bothering him so much, especially if it might have been him, but he let it go. Kell obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and since he’d had been letting Holland keep mostly to himself, especially with mental issues, Holland allowed Kell to guide his attention to a different topic.

“Fine. Give it here.”

Kell visibly relaxed, and handed him the drink. Holland wrapped his fingers around the cool glass, and swirled the liquid around. It was only the slightest bit transparent, and it was _yellow,_ not orange.

He said as much, and Kell snorted. 

“Blame Grey worlders. Originally, this is their fruit. They found it a little over a thousand years ago, and planted a few trees in my world before the doors shut. The actual fruit is called an orange, because of the peel and skin, and because Grey worlders generally aren’t creative. It’s just the drink you can make from it that’s yellow.”

Holland didn’t say anything, only brought it to his lips. It was cold, and slightly sweet, and definitely a little sour, but not in an unwelcome way. “Not bad,” he said, and put the cup down. Kell passed him the rest of his food, and he set it aside before looking back at the book. 

If he couldn’t make Kell talk right now, he’d just wait until he was less pulled back. 

_The elven mage stared at the desk for a moment, then let out his breath in a hiss. His fingers flexed, and blue sparks crackled out from them to slither across the surface of the desk. Some of the humans shifted uneasily, and one youngster looked to Alara as if he would very much like to run away._

Holland was interrupted by fingers snapping in front of his nose. He glanced up and realized Kell had been trying to get his attention. 

Kell smirked. “I never would have guessed.”

“Guessed what?”

“That you like books almost as much as I do.”

Holland scowled. “Well it’s not like I had much time for reading before.”

Kell was still smiling, and Holland was trying not to stare. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the book, but you still have to eat.”

Holland made a face, but picked up his sandwich. Kell was _still_ smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked writing this one, Kell being bewildered and Holland being annoyed that he slipped. Getting over your shit is important, and I feel like it was important for Kell to finally realize his chipping away at Holland's walls was getting results.  
> Heh, plus,the oranges are going to be important to a certain character later.


	15. An Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ojka eats an apple unsafely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/rkBvhnri5s0  
> How to Save a Life by The Fray

On Tuesday, as Kell switched out his coat to the black one he was so fond of on the front porch, Ojka ambled out the door and up to him. 

He hesitated. “Yes?” he asked, slipping the jacket on.

She picked up a small apple from a bowl that was inside the door, and cut off a small slice with her knife. “How is he sleeping?”

“Not much better. He wakes up panicked most nights, unnerved and paranoid almost all the rest. He’s… He’s started to calm down a little faster, but I never know if he’s going to let me try and help him calm down or if he's going to push me away.”

She popped the edge of the piece of fruit in her mouth. “I mean, at least he’s started to let you _at all._ Do you have any idea what’s wrong with him?” she managed around it, before using her tongue to pull the rest of it past her teeth and cutting off another slice.

“Well, I have a rough idea,” he said, trying to ignore how unsafe it was to eat an apple like that. “I _have_ been here for a couple of weeks. It’s a bit of an explanation though; do you want it now, or can it wait until I get back?”

Kell was planning to go out on a walk to clear his head, and maybe actually go to the market. He was still adjusting to the weirdness of the situation a little, but he did enjoy the bits of genuinely yellow sun that was coming out now that it was spring. He only wished Holland would leave the house so he could see it too.

“I’d like it before you go, if you don’t mind.”

Kell had learned over the past couple of weeks that Ojka was very blunt, and often didn’t take no for an answer when she thought something was wrong or important enough to warrant her attention.

He sighed, taking his coat off again, not wanting to overheat before he actually started walking. “Why are you asking me about this, specifically right now?”

“I’m worried,” she said, irritated, snapping off another piece of apple with her blade. “I _told_ you I don’t know what I’m doing. And since we know different sides of him, I was thinking we could share information.”

Kell set his coat aside. “What do you mean? Sharing stories? Facts? Private things he’s told us? He would _hate_ that, Ojka, on like nine levels.”

“Oh, with no doubt, but I believe it would likely help. And I don't specifically mean sharing private things he's told us, I mean sharing what he's like with us, the differences and similarities, and collaborating on what we want to try with him so he can start to be less... the way he is.” She lifted the new slice of apple up to her mouth, but paused. “For example... Holland smiled sometimes during his reign as King.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes. What with his power and reputation, he spent most of his time talking to people and acting serene, but he would stay up late most nights and feed some of the crows that gathered in the courtyard. He liked it.” She set the knife and the main part of the apple down, rolling the slice she still had in between her fingers. “It’s clear to me now, after having lived with him alone for so long, that he was avoiding sleep, taking the company of animals too stupid to understand that he was not entirely himself.”

“...He still had nightmares, didn’t he?”

Ojka’s eyes went sad. “Yes. It’s… I think that the _oshoc_ was helping him stifle his emotions, putting up a curtain over his mind to veil the things that made him anxious when he had to be presentable, but when he managed to finally get away from the awe filled crowds, he got agitated, restless. He couldn’t stand or sit still, so either he was avoiding sleep or he was unable to make himself.” 

She sighed. “I wish I could help, but…”

Kell folded his arms. “Why don’t _you_ ever wake him up?” 

Ojka folded her arms right back. “Because the first six times I tried, he either shoved me away from him or threw me to the floor.” She gave him a look. “He managed to apologize afterwards, but your presence seems to work better than mine.” 

Kell’s brow furrowed. “What? Why? You were loyal to him, you’re friends, and he and I have tried to kill each other plenty of times.”

“Did either of you actually want to?”

“Well, no, but-”

“He trusts you more, at least subconsciously. He knows deeper than he knows just about anything that you’d never try to take advantage of such a vulnerability as sleep to try and hurt him. And his instinctual reaction to anyone touching him in his sleep is to either fight or force them away.” 

Ojka sighed again, eyes going distant as she remembered something. “I’ve seen it happen before. When he was King. A maid came into his room and tried to shake him awake, and Holland pinned the girl’s arms to her sides and shoved her into the wall across the room with his will alone so hard that her ribs cracked. He had to heal the poor creature with blood magic.” 

She gave Kell another meaningful glance. “For some reason, you can almost pull him out of it without getting a violent reaction. I don’t know how he knows it’s you while he’s asleep, but it works.” A pause. “Maybe it’s your smell, it _is_ very… distinct.” 

Kell started a sentence, stopped, and then started and stopped another one. Finally, he managed, “Why, exactly, do you think that is?”

Ojka’s eyes looked tired, a little sad. “Because while he’ll probably never admit it aloud, Holland likes you as much as he can like anyone.”

Kell rolled his eyes, not convinced. “I still don’t believe that.”

_I’d like to, though._

She bit off a part of the sliced apple she still had in one hand. “I keep trying to tell you, _Antari,_ that he does. It isn't my fault you don't believe me. Either way though, do you agree?”

Right, the sharing information thing. He considered it for a moment. 

If Holland found out, he’d probably be livid. But on the other hand, Kell understood her argument. She’d seen Holland genuinely happy, she’d seen what he was like at home, and Kell was desperate for any way to connect. For example, he didn’t know Holland liked birds.

“Okay, fine.” He held out his hand, and Ojka shook it. 

She swallowed the bite of apple. “Could you tell me what you think is wrong with him before you go? I want to bug him for information so I have things to tell you, since you’ve known him for years longer than me.”

Kell hesitated. “Does he know you’re out here?”

“He’s got the book, but yes. I take it that means you’ve noticed too?”

“Of course. Something happens when he’s left alone for too long.”

“So make it quick, princeling,” she said, eating the last of her apple slice.

“I’m not a prince, but fine.” Kell thought about how to word in a way she’d understand, before picking up his coat again. 

“When you experience something that terrifies you, your brain shifts to one of two sides. Attacking, or running away. But if it’s traumatic enough, your brain says that what you’re seeing or feeling isn’t important to process, because you have to focus on surviving, so it takes that memory and sticks it in the back of your mind until you’re safe. Your brain waits until you’re out of the dangerous situation, let’s you calm down, and then allows you to process the horrible memory later." 

He pulled his arms through the sleeves.

“The issue, Ojka, is that anything even remotely similar to the sounds, sights, or smells of what was there during the experience can trigger the memory, and then you see and hear and feel it as if it were happening all over again. Sometimes not even just those do it, either,” he finished, buttoning up the front, “sometimes it can just be thinking too much, which he tends to do. He traps everything he doesn’t want to talk about up in his head, and in doing so, also keeps all the no doubt horrible memories in there too.”

Ojka gave him a thoughtful look. “So you’re saying that Holland relives what happened with the Danes when he’s left alone?”

Kell looked away from the porch into the distance at the trees, remembering he and Holland sitting out here as the sun rose. “...As well as whatever else he’s dealt with, but yes.”

She ran a hand through her hair, mussing up her bangs. _“Kajt.”_

“Exactly.” Kell pulled his hood up. “Feel free to go bother him now, I need to get some air. I’ll probably head to the market too, buy some food, and _maybe_ even socialize.” He gave her an experimental half smile.

He still didn’t exactly trust Ojka, so he had been trying to edge into the feeling of normalcy over time. She seemed to be adjusting to him, too, finally believing that he had good intent in Makt and wasn’t here to hurt a specific green-eyed someone.

She snickered, picking up her apple and sliding around the door before shutting it with a click.

He smiled again, stepped off the porch, and started to walk down the path that he now knew well. It was gravelly, small bits of spring grass coming up along the side. There were no flowers yet, but he wasn’t particularly concerned about it. This would take time.

He didn’t notice the figure watching him as he went down the street.


	16. Encoded Pages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kell hides a notebook in his coat.
> 
> (Not super important to the story, just a filler chapter in Greek. There might be other chapters like this in the future, depending on how well this goes over, and I'll put a full translation of the Greek text at the bottom of the chapter.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2YgQbb2kJU  
> Mess Is Mine by Vance Joy
> 
> Um. I-  
> Over 300 reads.  
> I actually screeched.  
> Thank you guys so much!  
> This is my first work on here, and I never expected any attention.  
> Anyway, many thanks, and please enjoy the chapter!

CW: Mentions of death & violence

Αυτό προτάθηκε από την Ojka πριν από μια εβδομάδα.

Δεν είμαι σίγουρος αν αυτό θα κάνει πραγματικά τίποτα χρήσιμο, αλλά η Ojka είπε ότι αν προσπαθήσω, "ίσως μπορείτε να πείσετε τον άλλο θλιβερό να το δοκιμάσει επίσης."

Παρεμπιπτόντως, δεν θα γράψω το όνομά του. Θα τον αναφέρω μόνο ως "Χιόνι" γιατί δεν θέλω να κοιτάξει αυτές τις σελίδες και να γνωρίζει ότι γράφω γι 'αυτόν.

Οι γλώσσες, όπως μπορείτε να μαντέψετε, δεν μεταφράζουν πάντα σωστά τα ονόματα και ο Rhy επέμενε πάντα ότι ακολουθώ σωστά τους κανόνες της μετάφρασης.

Τέλος πάντων, αποφάσισα να κρατάω πάντα αυτό το σημειωματάριο στο παλτό μου. Κανείς δεν μπορεί να χρησιμοποιήσει το παλτό μου με επιτυχία εκτός από εμένα.

Λοιπόν, εκτός από τη Λίλα.

Για κάποιο λόγο, το παλτό θα λειτουργούσε επίσης για αυτήν.

Είναι ενοχλητικό και τρομακτικό, για να είμαι ειλικρινής, γιατί ποτέ δεν ξέρω αν όλα τα κρυμμένα πράγματα μου είναι ασφαλή σε διαφορετική πλευρά.

Αλλά εκτός από αυτό, θα γράψω μόνο τυχαίες σκέψεις που έχω σε αυτό το βιβλίο έως ότου ξέρω τι θέλω να κάνω με αυτό, γιατί, ειλικρινά ... δεν έχω ιδέα τι άλλο να κάνω με αυτό το πράγμα.

Θα γράψω επίσης μόνο στα ελληνικά, γιατί πρόκειται να γράψω για το Snow εδώ και δεν αντέχω να ακούσω τι θα έλεγε.

... Ξέρω ότι είναι σπασμένος άνθρωπος ... και ξέρω ότι δεν θα μου πει ποτέ τα πάντα, αλλά ...

Ελπίζω έτσι κι αλλιώς.

Ξέρω ακριβώς πόσο ηλίθιο είναι να μου αρέσει το Snow, αλλά ποτέ δεν κατάφερα να το βοηθήσω.

Κοιμόμαστε το ένα δίπλα στο άλλο λίγο αδέξια τις περισσότερες νύχτες, άβολα να είμαστε τόσο κοντά ο ένας στον άλλο, αλλά αξίζει τον κόπο όταν καταφέρνω να τον βγάλω από ένα κακό όνειρο.

Μια φορά, περίπου μια εβδομάδα πριν, με τράβηξε από ένα.

Ήταν περίεργο, γιατί είμαι συνηθισμένος να ξυπνάω μόνος μου.

Ήταν επίσης λίγο τρομακτικό να θυμάμαι ότι κάθε βράδυ είμαι αναίσθητος δίπλα σε κάποιον που είχε τόσες πολλές μάχες τα χρόνια.

Είμαι βέβαιος ότι η Χιόνι δεν θα με πληγώσει ποτέ στον ύπνο μου, αλλά με κάνει ακόμα νευρικό γνωρίζοντας ότι κάποιος που ξέρει κάθε είδους βία με παρακολουθεί ενώ είμαι αδύναμος και κοιμάμαι.

Υποθέτω ότι ότι ενώ ο Snow δεν έχει δύναμη, και ότι ενώ έχει αρχίσει να με εμπιστεύεται, φοβάμαι ακόμα να τον εμπιστευτώ εντελώς.

Ακόμα και μετά από όλα που έχουμε περάσει, ακόμη και μετά τη θυσία του για το Λονδίνο, ακόμη και αφού έσωσε τη Λίλα, θυμάμαι ακόμα να κοιτάζω το πρόσωπό του καθώς ο παλμός του αδερφού μου εξαφανίστηκε από το στήθος μου.

Και ξέρω ότι δεν είναι δικό του λάθος - γι 'αυτό είμαι εδώ, αλλά ο Rhy είναι ο μόνος άνθρωπος που με έχει αγαπήσει όλη μου τη ζωή.

Απλώς υπενθυμίζω συνεχώς στον εαυτό μου ότι αν πεθάνω εδώ, το ίδιο κάνει και ο Rhy. Και αν τραυματιστώ, πρέπει να βασιστώ στον Ojka για να με σώσει, ο οποίος δεν είναι ακριβώς αξιόπιστος.

Η ενοχλητική γυναίκα εξαφανίζεται για μέρες κάθε φορά και δεν μας λέει ποτέ πού πηγαίνει ή πότε θα επιστρέψει.

Αυτό που κάνω εδώ είναι επικίνδυνο, το ξέρω, αλλά η Ojka είχε δίκιο. Xιόνι το χρειάζεται.

Εγώ Πρέπει να φύγω. Αυτό γίνεται πιο θλιβερό από ό, τι περίμενα, και η Ojka ζήτησε μήλα πριν από λίγες μέρες.

Έχουμε μόνο ένα ή δύο αυτή τη στιγμή που διατηρούμε ακριβώς μπροστά από την πόρτα, και τους αυτή τρώει σχεδόν κάθε μέρα με τον πιο επικίνδυνο τρόπο που έχω δει ποτέ κάποιος να τρώει ένα μήλο.

Θα προσπαθήσω να θυμηθώ και να γράψω ξανά αύριο ...

Πιθανώς.

_translation below:_

This was suggested by Ojka a week ago.

I'm not sure if this will really do anything useful, but Ojka said that if I try, "maybe you can convince the other sad one to try it too."

By the way, I will not write his name. I will only refer to him as "Snow" because I do not want him to look at these pages and know that I am writing about him.

Languages, as you can guess, do not always translate names correctly, and Rhy always insisted that I follow the rules of translation correctly.

Anyway, I decided to always keep this notebook in my coat. No one can use my coat successfully except me.

Well, except for Lila.

For some reason, the coat would also work for her.

It's annoying and scary, to be honest, because I never know if all my hidden things are safe on a different side.

But other than that, I will only write random thoughts that I have in this book until I know what I want to do with it, because, honestly ... I have no idea what else to do with this thing.

I will also write only in Greek, because I am going to write about Snow here and I can not bear to hear what he would say.

... I know he's a broken man ... and I know he'll never tell me everything, but ...

I hope anyway.

I know exactly how stupid it is to like Snow, but I was never able to help it.

We sleep next to each other a little awkwardly most nights, uncomfortable being so close to each other, but it's worth it when I manage to get him out of a bad dream.

Once, about a week ago, he pulled me out of one.

It was weird, because I'm used to waking up alone.

It was also a little scary to remember that every night I am unconscious next to someone who has had so many fights over the years.

I'm sure Snow will never hurt me in my sleep, but it still makes me nervous knowing that someone who knows all kinds of violence is watching me while I'm weak and asleep.

I guess that while Snow has no power, and that while he has begun to trust me, I am still afraid to trust him completely.

Even after all we have been through, even after his sacrifice for London, even after he saved Lila, I still remember looking at his face as my brother's pulse disappeared from my chest.

And I know it's not his fault - that's why I'm here, but Rhy is the only person who has loved me all my life.

I just keep reminding myself that if I die here, so will Rhy. And if I get injured, I have to rely on Ojka to save me, who is not exactly reliable.

The annoying woman disappears for days at a time and never tells us where she is going or when she will return.

What I am doing here is dangerous, I know, but Ojka was right. Snow needs it.

I have to go. This is getting sadder than I expected, and Ojka asked for apples a few days ago.

We only have one or two at the moment that we keep right in front of the door, and she eats them almost every day in the most dangerous way I have ever seen anyone eat an apple.

I will try to remember and write again tomorrow ...

Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Also, I was thinking about maybe writing a short little AU about these two, in which Holland is a vampire and Kell is a nerdy college student. Yes or no?  
> It might delay the chapters here, but I had an _Idea™_ and I keep thinking about it...


	17. AUTHOR NOTE

So, slight problem...

You all might have realized that my updates have gotten a little slower, so I thought I'd let you know that online high school is a _bitch_ (I still have classwork to do over break), that my mom is having some serious health problems (as in like, she might die in the next three to five weeks level of serious), and that the next chapter might not end up coming out for another month or two because of that.

It might come out next week if things change for the better, but don't expect it to or get mad at me if it takes forever.

Sorry peeps...


	18. What Language Is That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ojka gives a shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXIiOOOWSsc  
> Come Down by Noah Kahan
> 
> I forgot I had this one mostly pre-written, so I did some final editing and figured you guys could have it while I wait (a week to 11 weeks) to figure out if our last attempts to help my mom will do anything...  
> Basically we're down to roofies and the electric chair (ketapine treatment and ECT, lol, I just like making it sound weirder than it needs to be).

CONTENT WARNING: Drugged character, mentions of possible sexual assault

Holland was - very slowly - becoming more and more comfortable with this oddly domestic lifestyle.

There was a pattern now. Every week, Kell would leave for a couple of days, and in the time he was here, he hung around in Holland’s general proximity.

There were ups and downs to it, of course, but now that it was pretty much solidified that Kell wasn’t going anywhere, Holland had started to relax a little.

Only a little, but the fact that it was happening at all sort of bothered him. He wasn’t used to being relaxed. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt… all right? Okay?

No, he still woke up in the middle of the night. (Sometimes he accidentally woke Kell up too, if the nightmare was bad enough, and then he had to suffer the indignity of letting Kell calm him down.)

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt… well, like he wasn’t in danger all the time. He was out of harm's way, and after almost eight years with the twins, it was difficult to comprehend after only almost a month of Kell reminding him they were dead in the middle of the night.

There was still the occasional looming fear when he did something that would normally be against the rules (like eating or going outside without permission) that Athos - or Astrid, honestly - would twirl around the corner and say something unsettling while sliding a knife up his leg.

...He still flinched if the door slammed too hard or if something heavy fell to the floor. He still had horrible dreams. He still didn’t let himself be left alone more than two rooms away from someone. He still moved away if Ojka or Kell got too close to him, though less so with Kell, and definitely less when it was the middle of the night and one of them had just gotten out of a nightmare…

There was also the fact that the world was coming to life outside, and he’d hardly seen any of it. He didn’t deserve to, even if he’d caused it, not after keeping so many others from being able to see it themselves with his power or a knife.

But aside from that, he thought he was adjusting to what he assumed was normal everyday life (specifically, life without the Danes) rather well.

Kell spent his time here reading, cleaning around the house or scribbling notes - and sometimes, from what Holland could tell, sketching - when he wasn’t just _staring _at him. To be fair, Holland sometimes stared at Kell too, but he was decent enough to be subtle about it.__

When Kell left, Ojka was always kind of hovering, which was a little aggravating, but it meant that both of them had noticed, even if they hadn’t seemingly actually talked about it yet.

Ojka shuffling around a couple of rooms away after asking him annoying and personal questions was background noise, and he was used to the sound enough that he barely noticed it. He was a little irritated that Ojka had bugged him until he told her things, but he’d managed to get out of it after telling her about the list and how he’d met Osaron.

They were planning on trying the tonic from Tieren on him tonight, since it had been a full day since Kell came back. It was Tuesday now, and Holland was in his room on his bed reading the book Kell had brought him.

Currently, Keman, Alara’s son, was taking care of a half breed infant that Alara had rescued from the desert. Alara and Keman and everyone who lived in the mountains were creatures called dragons. They were large, winged, four legged creatures that could have been mistaken for very large animals had they not their own language and community. Instead of fur, they were scaled like lizards, and they were all very colorful. Alara was red, for example, and Keman was blue. They could shapeshift, mold rock like humans molded clay, and could very easily sneak into elven society once they had mastered their shapeshifting ability. Each family lived in a ‘lair,’ which was functionally a collection of caves that the dragons lived in like they were rooms in a house.

The baby was half human and half elf, which was forbidden in the elven areas of the world. He wasn’t exactly sure yet, but humans were slaves and seen as animals by the elves, so it must have been viewed by elven society as similar to mating with cattle. Also, when the humans bred with elves, they created something stronger than both - magic did follow blood lines here, possibly because the abilities that people had were different - and the elves were terrified of the halfbloods fighting back against the slavery of themselves and/or their parents.

Keman was a young dragon, a child, really, who had a collection of animal pens, and while his mother was in labor, he was watching over the child. The other dragons were either terrified of what the infant might bring down upon them or disgusted by it because they thought she was an animal. Mostly both.

Holland looked up.

Kell was gone longer than he was supposed to be. Since it was Tuesday, he was out at the market, but it was starting to get dark outside.

“Hey, Ojka?” He called, putting a bookmark on the page.

“Yes?” Came the muffled response.

He propped himself up, resting on his elbow. “Do you know what’s taking Kell so long?”

There was a clack as she set something down, and her footsteps padded down the hall. She poked her head into his doorway with a grin. “Are you worried about him?” She singsonged the words.

He glared. “What if I am?”

Her grin widened. “Just making sure.”

He rolled his eyes and sat all the way up, placing the book on the bedside table. “Can you go look for him?”

“No,” She said primly, folding her arms and coming fully into view.

He raised a brow. “Why would that be?”

“You need fresh air.” He frowned, but she waved a hand. “He’s only running a little late, and if you’re that worried, you can go look for him.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off by someone knocking on the front door. Or, they tried to. The first two knocks were loud and rang through the house, but the third one dragged down the door, as if they couldn’t hold their hand up through the final knock.

Ojka’s eyes narrowed, and she made her way to the door, Holland at her heels. She pulled the door open, bracing for a fight, and jumped back when Kell, carrying several bags of food and his coat splattered with blood, staggered in. “Γειά σου! Γύρισα! Δέχτηκα επίθεση!”

Holland blinked. “What?” Kell had just spouted random syllables like they were words. _Why does he have blood on his clothes?_ He didn’t appear wounded, so whose blood was it?

Ojka poked her head out the door, pulling Kell in by the arm and throwing him in Holland’s direction. He stumbled, and Holland caught him, disturbed by the fact that he smelled heavily of wine and blood and something else he couldn’t put his finger on.

Ojka slammed the door shut behind her. “Bring him here, quickly,” she muttered, taking Kell’s bags and setting them on a nearby table. Holland cocked his head, not used to Ojka giving him orders, but she was tense and agitated, and seemed to know what was wrong, so he made no comment as he pulled an apparently very drunk Kell along.

She pointed at the couch, which he set Kell on, and she stood in front of the dazed _Antari_. “Kell, what happened?”

Kell’s eyes were unfocused, his hair sweaty and falling into his face. There were a couple of flecks of blood on his cheek, and he mumbled something, shaking his head.

“Kell,” she repeated.

“Εχω πονοκέφαλο.” Kell pressed a hand to his temple, squinting as he looked up. “Τα χρώματα αλλάζουν και κινούνται.”

It sounded like babbling to Holland, but it was too deliberate to be nonsense. He didn’t know it, and he didn’t know if he even could carve a translation rune into himself now. After all, the spell was only as strong as it’s caster, and Holland was no longer strong.

“Ojka?” He asked, and she pulled away from staring at Kell to give Holland a startled look.

“He’s speaking a dead language fluently.” She seemed baffled. “He just said that... the colors were shifting. He’s not in his right mind.”

“How do you know it’s dead?”

She looked at the language rune in her skin. “There’s a bit of a buzz to the words that I’ve only felt when looking at old scriptures in the unused library when you were King.” She slanted him a look. “I can do my best to translate, but he’s…” She turned her gaze to Kell, and her eyes did something weird. She looked... worried. “He’s not drunk, he’s been drugged, and then he was attacked. That was what he said when he showed up at the door.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

That’s why she wanted to get Kell inside so badly.

She placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “We need to stay calm; whatever he’s been dosed with, he’s going to feel absolutely awful in the morning, and yelling _will not_ help. He doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of sickness, so this probably won’t kill him, but… Apart from that, I don’t know how bad the symptoms are going to get until he rides this out.”

Holland muttered obscenities under his breath as he sat down in front of Kell. “Hey. Idiot. Are you hurt?”

Kell looked at him, bleary eyed. “Σημαίνω. Οχι.”

“He said ‘Mean. No.’”

Holland sighed, partly in annoyance and partly in relief. Kell wasn’t wounded, which meant that the blood was someone else’s, probably the people who had done this to him in the first place. On the other hand, he seemed insistent upon speaking this other language, which meant Ojka would have to translate all of it. He turned to her. “Can you get some paper and a pen? Just to write down the highlights of this interaction in case he starts ranting?”

She nodded, turning on her heel.

“Kell,” Holland prodded gently. “Did you get a good look at whoever did this to you?”

Kell shook his head and started rapidly tapping his fingers against his knee. “Οχι.”

Okay, ‘oχι’ meant no. It probably wouldn’t help in the long run, but if Kell was this fluent, Holland might need to cobble together a vocabulary.

He was concerned, and he had likely already failed at hiding it, so there was little point in trying to do so now, especially if Kell might not remember this later. “Would you be willing to talk in Maktahn with me, or Arnesian, or your High Royal English nonsense? Any language I know?” Holland asked as he started unbuttoning Kell’s bloody coat.

Kell shook his head again, stretching his arms out so Holland could pull it the rest of the way off. “Οχι.”

“...Why?”

As soon as Holland pulled the coat away from Kell’s fingers, his hands wouldn’t stop moving, shifting to trace up and down his arms as he said, “Γιατί νιώθω άρρωστος και λυπημένος ταυτόχρονα. Το κεφάλι μου πονάει και αυτή η γλώσσα δεν με κάνει πιο θλιβερό.”

Ojka stuck her head back in. “He says he’s got a headache and he’s sad, but this language specifically doesn’t make him feel even sadder, in... whatever context that makes any sense. I just caught that on my way in.” She came over and dropped down on the floor next to Holland, a thin notepad in her hands.

Holland frowned. Why would languages make him sad? “Kell, do you-”

He stopped. Kell had reached over and wound his fingers through his hair. “What are you doing?”

Kell smiled, a lazy, sleepy fog over his eyes. “Τα μαλλιά σου είναι περίεργα.” Holland cast a glance at Ojka, who looked startled as Kell marveled over the pale strands in front of him.

“He said your hair is weird.”

Holland blinked, looking back at Kell, who smiled dazedly at him. Holland blinked again. “Yours changed too, I could argue.” The silver streak in his auburn hair was still there after all these months, and Holland didn’t know if it would go away as Kell’s hair grew, or if it would always be there.

Kell shook his head, like he was missing the point. “Όχι με κακό τρόπο, όμως. Είναι όμορφο, απλά δεν το συνηθίζω να είναι τόσο λευκό.”

Holland looked at Ojka again, who clicked her tongue and then pressed a fist to her mouth. She flicked her gaze between them, hesitating, and Holland raised a brow.

She relented. “He said, ‘but not in a bad way. It’s pretty, I’m just not used to it yet.’”

Holland’s brow furrowed. Was she lying? No, she didn’t do that, not to him. Was _Kell_ lying? Maybe, but it didn’t seem likely, since people tended to be honest when intoxicated.

What did _pretty_ mean to _Kell_ though? Attractive? Or simply aesthetically pleasing?

He did his best to shrug it off, grabbing Kell’s hands and removing them from his head. “You’re delirious,” he said dryly.

Kell stuck his tongue out like a little kid. “Αλλά όχι παραληρητικό!”

Ojka snorted. “He said, ‘but not delusional.’”

Holland facepalmed sighing, but Kell wasn’t done.

“Γιατί είναι τόσο δύσκολο να πιστέψεις ότι σε συμπαθώ;” Kell was frowning a little now, his tired smile gone, and he started running his nails along the couch fabric to soothe whatever reactions his body was having to the drug. “Πόσες φορές πρέπει να το πω;”

Ojka scribbled on the notepad. “He said this.”

The sheet read: _Why is it so hard to believe that I like you? How many times do I have to say it?_

He flicked her a look, startled. She made a face, like 'I’m not going to keep voicing this, it’s awkward and you can’t make me,' and he rolled his eyes. _That_ wasn’t why he’d given her the confused look.

He turned back to Kell, who had a hand pressed to his own forehead. “Are you okay?” Holland asked, and Kell just groaned.

“Πονάει.” It hurts, said the notepad.

“This has gotten us nowhere. You’re not wounded, all we can do right now is to get you to bed.”

“Οχι!” Kell shouted when Holland reached to help lift him up.

“What now?”

Kell shook his head. “Εχω ένα μυστικό. Δεν έχω πει ποτέ σε κανέναν και θέλω να σας πω, αλλά ταυτόχρονα φοβάμαι.”

The notepad was up before he finished looking over. _I have a secret. I have never told anyone, and I_ want _to tell you, but at the same time, I’m afraid._

“Go on,” he encouraged.

Kell hesitated, but then he looked at his hands, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Είσαι τόσο σημαντικός για μένα όσο το Rhy. Ποτέ δεν σας το είπα, γιατί πάντα πίστευα ότι με μισούσατε.” Ojka made a small noise, eyes wide, and started furiously scratching away on the notepad.

Holland looked over, and then inhaled sharply.

_You’re as important to me as Rhy. I never told you, because I always thought you hated me._

His throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe.

How was he supposed to respond to that? His chest felt knotted, and he stared at Kell, who averted his eyes.

“Κανείς δεν ξέρω νομίζει ότι πρέπει να με νοιάζει, αλλά δεν μπορώ να κάνω τίποτα άλλο. Προσπάθησα να σου μιλήσω, προσπάθησα να γίνω φίλος σου.” He pulled his feet up onto the couch, hugging his knees. “Αλλά με μισούσες.”

_No one I know thinks I should care, but I can’t help it. I tried to talk to you, I tried to be your friend. But you hated me._

Kell paused and tightened his grip on his legs, biting his lip, but kept going, and his voice cracked as he continued. “Ξέρετε ότι προσπάθησα, αλλά με αγνοήσατε. Προσποιηθήκατε ότι δεν ήμουν εκεί και δεν μου μίλησε ποτέ. Δεν μου έδωσες ποτέ την ευκαιρία να βοηθήσεις...”

_You know I tried, but you ignored me. You pretended I wasn’t there and never spoke to me. You never gave me a chance to help…_

His voice broke, and a single tear fell down his cheek. “Γιατί όχι? Δεν ήταν ...σαν να είχατε κάποιον άλλο να μιλήσετε.”

_Why not? It wasn't ... like you had someone else to talk to._

He stopped, pulling up short. “Συγνώμη. Λυπάμαι που είμαι τόσο αγενής.”

She moved around to the back of the couch so Holland wouldn’t have to keep turning around. _Sorry. I’m sorry I'm so rude,_ the notepad said.

Kell’s eyes welled up more, and this time, the tears didn’t stop. “Είμαι αγενής και κακός στα πράγματα και κανείς δεν μου αρέσει και είμαι απαίσιος και σκόπιμα ξέχασα τους.”

_I'm rude and bad at things and I don't like anyone and I'm awful and I deliberately forgot them._

Holland’s eyes widened, and Kell covered his face with his hands, falling to lay sideways on the couch in a little ball. “Τι είναι λάθος με μένα;”

_What’s wrong with me?_

Holland’s heart hurt. Didn’t they just do this, like almost a month ago? What was it with Kell and hating himself? Sighing, he placed his hand on Kell’s arm. “Hush. Nothing is wrong with you.”

“Σταμάτα να λες ψέματα!” Kell’s hands came away from his face to push Holland away, and his tone was desperate. This time, Holland didn’t need Ojka’s notepad to know that Kell was telling him not to bluff.

“I’m not.”

“Σκάσε,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. “Σταμάτα να λες ψέματα,” he repeated, his voice small.

_Shut up. Stop lying._

Holland rolled his eyes. “Kell.” Kell looked back down at him, and Holland wiped away his tears, cupping his cheeks.

“ _Nothing_ is wrong with you.” Kell started to protest, but Holland kept going. “While you are annoying on occasion, you are funny and you try as hard as you can and- and I like you well enough, and you are nice to people who don’t deserve it, and I don’t know what you decided to forget but I’m sure you can remember if it’s actually important.”

Kell’s face twisted, giving Holland an anguished look, smacking his hands away. “Κάνω τα πράγματα χειρότερα και δεν μπορείς να με πείσεις διαφορετικά.”

_I make things worse and you cannot convince me otherwise._

Holland shook his head, grabbing Kell’s hands and holding them. “You make me better.” Kell stared down at his palms in Holland’s hands, and Holland interlocked their fingers, surprising Kell into looking back up at him. “You make _me,_ of all people, better, Kell,” he repeated. “That has to count for something.”

Kell bit his lip, looking like a wounded animal for several moments, and started to say something before crying out in pain. “Πονάει!” Holland remembered what it meant, he’d seen it on the notepad. 'It hurts,' he was pretty sure.

Holland turned, whipping his head to the side, trying to find Ojka. She’d vanished. “Ojka?”

Kell rolled forward off the couch, whimpering, hands on his temples. Holland caught him and positioned them so Kell was slumped against him, momentarily amazed at how light he was and marveling at his warmth yet again, but brushed the thoughts away when Ojka ran back into the room.

“Sorry,” she said hurriedly. “He’s going to need this.”

She handed a vial to Holland. “It will help with the pain and make him tired. I figured out what he got drugged with, and he’s going to be in a lot of pain for quite a while. It will be less terrible if he just sleeps through it.”

Holland looked down at Kell, who was limp against him, wincing with a hand to his forehead. “What is it?”

“The medication I grabbed for the pain is Dolor, but… Holland, I recognize the smell. He was drugged with Lúðekam.”

Lúðekam? Wait- No.

Holland cursed profusely, stringing together several aggressive expletives. “Who would do that to him?” He growled darkly, and Ojka winced.

“I don’t know. ...Maybe someone saw his eye and tried for his blood?”

“No,” his voice was low and rough and angry. “Lúðekam is for _kynferð_ isofbeldi, not getting dregs of magic from someone’s veins. It’s point is to dull their power and make them delirious so they can’t get away or fight back, and if someone tried using _Lúðekam_ for _blood harvesting_ , they’re either brand new at it or they weren’t trying to take his blood at all.”

Despite Holland's fury, he bent down to gingerly lift Kell up with him from their position on the floor. Kell mewled pitifully as he was moved, and Holland’s eyes hardened. He lifted one hand under Kell’s knees and one around his shoulders, holding him against his body protectively.

“We are _finding_ whoever did this as soon as he’s functioning.” Ojka nodded, eyes wide, stepping out of the way as he carried Kell out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, for anyone who cares, check out Lumau's new story, Nobles and Demons. It's a Rhylucard fic, and if you like my disaster writing, I assure you theirs is better, so you can read that while you wait for me to get over my crippling anxiety about my mom.
> 
> Doing my best to act normal, eheh.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like the chapter?


	19. Mindless Rambling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Holland is both warm and cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAK-3cbim4o  
> This Will End by The Oh Hellos

“Hey,” Holland said gently, keeping his steps slow so as not to jostle Kell.

Kell whined, clutching his head. “Πονάει. Πονάει και λυπάμαι. Λυπάμαι πολύ.”

Holland shook his head. “I’m sorry it hurts, but I can’t understand you.” 

Kell made a broken sound as they went further down the hall. “Λυπάμαι πολύ. Λυπάμαι που σε συμπαθώ πάρα πολύ, λυπάμαι που δεν μπορώ να σε αφήσω να φύγεις. Λυπάμαι που κολλήσατε μαζί μου εδώ γιατί φοβάμαι.”

He nudged Kell’s bedroom door open with his foot. “Why won’t you talk in a language I know?”

“Πονάει.”

“I’m sorry. I’m gonna lie you down, and you can get some sleep.”

“Πονάει και λυπάμαι. Λυπάμαι πολύ.”

'It hurts,' and… something. An apology, maybe?

Holland sighed. Kell’s tone only _indicated_ mindless repetitive apologies. Holland could have been wrong, and even if he was right, he didn’t even know what he was apologizing for, so he had no way to comfort him or know what to say to shut him up. Maybe he should have tried harder to calm down in front of Ojka; she was probably too scared of him right now to translate for him again.

He set Kell down on the bed, sitting on the edge and popping the cork out of the vial Ojka had given him. “Take this.”

It was a small vial, roughly the size of his thumb. Dolor was meant for pain relief and induced heavy sleep, and the only side effect was an inability to keep your thoughts from being said aloud before the sleeping function dragged you under. 

From Kell’s symptoms - emotional instability, mood swings, memory loss, headache, physical weakness, sensory sensitivity - the Lúðekam would be in his system for roughly six hours, and the dosage of Dolor in the vial would be enough to knock out at least a regular human being for about seven. His head would still be killing him in the morning, but the medication would make sure he was asleep through the worst of it.

Kell shook his head, covering his eyes with his elbow and rolling away from Holland. “Οχι.”

“Kell. Kell shook his head again. “Hey, I'm serious, it will make the pain go away. You’ll get tired, and then you’ll wake up and your head will hurt much less.”

Kell shifted his arm to rest on his forehead, hurt and sadness on his face. “Είσαι σίγουρος?”

It sounded like a request for confirmation, so Holland nodded. “I swear.”

Kell lifted himself up on one elbow to take the vial, and as he drank, Holland started pulling the blankets up from their piled mess at the corner of the bed up to go over him. Kell winced, rubbing his forehead, but he handed the vial to Holland.

Holland took it and moved to get up, but Kell caught his elbow. He didn’t speak, but his expression had a clear message, no translation needed. _Don’t go._

Holland hesitated. Kell had seemed relatively okay with… general touching, but he didn’t want to climb into bed with him without expressed permission, and Kell was not currently in the mindset to consent to _anything_ as important as changes to socially acceptable physical boundaries. 

He sighed, pulling a chair from Kell’s desk over to the bed. “I’ll be back, I promise.” Kell’s eyes fearfully followed him as he turned and went back down the hallway toward his own room, where his book was on his own bedside table.

He grabbed it and then went back down the hall to Kell’s room, but what he saw made him nearly drop his book. 

Kell had placed his hands on his chest, and was scratching hard at one wrist. The skin there was raw, nearly _bleeding,_ and his eyes were squeezed shut, thin tear streaks running from the corners to his temples and behind his ears.

“Kell- What are you-” 

Kell’s eyes snapped open, and nearly fell out of the bed trying to scramble over to Holland. “Μην πας ξανά. Είμαι - δεν μπορώ να σκεφτώ. Δεν μπορώ να είμαι μόνος τώρα. Δεν ξέρω τι είναι λάθος, αλλά δεν μπορώ να σκεφτώ. Μην με αφήνεις ξανά μόνη σου, σε παρακαλώ. Σας παρακαλούμε. Σας παρακαλούμε.”

Holland was at the bedside immediately, helping Kell back under the sheets. “Hey, _hey,_ Kell. It’s alright. What’s wrong?”

“Συνήθιζα να αποφεύγω να σκέφτομαι πράγματα που με ενοχλούσαν. Τώρα το μόνο που μπορώ να κάνω είναι να το σκεφτώ. Σε χρειάζομαι για να με αποσπάσεις. Σε παρακαλώ μην με αφήσεις ξανά μόνη μου. Σας παρακαλούμε.”

_Σας παρακαλούμε._ He kept repeating that. It sounded like a plea.

Kell was begging for something, but Holland didn't know what it was. This would have been so much easier if Kell would just talk normally, but something happened when he was drugged and now the only language he would use was… whatever this was.

How did Kell even _know_ a dead language? He didn't have a language rune.

He could ask him about it later. “Kell,” Holland said gently, kneeling at the side of the bed so they could make eye contact. Kell’s heaving chest slowed a little, and he looked up, eyes scared and sad. “Kell. Relax.” Holland reached to wipe his tears away with one hand. “Slow down. I’m not going to leave again, not until you’re okay.”

Kell gripped the hand that was by his face with sudden fiercity. “Υπόσχεσαι?”

Holland sighed tiredly. “I don’t know what you’re saying. I can’t understand you, but you can understand me, so just- Listen.” Kell loosened his grip on Holland’s hand, but he didn’t let go, so Holland didn’t pull away. It was as close to a confirmation as he was likely to receive. 

“I’m not going to leave. I’ll stay right here next to you until you fall asleep, and I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

At the word sleep, Kell’s eyes widened. “Δεν θέλω να κοιμηθώ! Ο ύπνος είναι τρομακτικό!”

It had the same tone to it as a protest Holland had said before, said even recently. _I’m scared of sleep, I don’t want to._

He smiled, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Believe me, I know.” Kell winced again, and Holland reached to keep him from digging his nails into his temple. “Hey- Hey. Look at me. Sleep will make it hurt less, I promise.”

Kell shook his head. “Οχι.”

“Yes.”

“Οχι!”

“Kell. Please.” He cupped Kell’s cheek, earning a shiver, and Kell blinked. 

“Κρύο.” His eyes brightened just the smallest amount, and he looked at Holland. “Κρύο!”

“What?”

Kell moved Holland’s hand up to his temple and let out a small breath of relief as his own skin made contact with the cold of the fingers he was holding. “Το κρυο. Θα κοιμηθώ, αλλά πρέπει να κρατάς το χέρι σου στα μαλλιά μου. Το κρύο βοηθά.”

Oh. His head hurt, and Holland’s hands were cold. It made enough sense, so he nodded.

Kell’s eyes shut for a moment. "Και νομίζεις ότι είσαι τόσο κακός άνθρωπος. Με βοηθάς όταν δεν βγάζεις τίποτα.

He was rambling again, and Holland pressed his fingers through Kell's hair to his scalp, earning a tired smile. The Dolor must have started taking effect. 

“Σώσατε τον κόσμο μου. Με έσωσες. Σώσατε τη Lila.”

Holland stopped moving his hand at her name. Why was Kell bringing _her_ up? What if he was so messed up from all the drugs in his system that he thought it was _her_ comforting him? Holland winced at the thought, but Kell’s warm hand came to his wrist, snapping him out of it. He looked up to see Kell staring at him.

“Holland, είσαι τόσο καλύτερος από εμένα και δεν το πιστεύεις, ανεξάρτητα από το πόσες φορές προσπάθησα να σου πω.”

Holland kept his face blank as Kell moved from his wrist to his hand, cupping Holland’s fingers against his cheek, turning into the feeling. It was such an intimate gesture, and Holland’s brain was screaming at him that it was only because Kell was thinking about Lila, but a smaller part of him didn’t want to believe it. 

Kell had used the word _είσαι_ right after his name, which so far had only been used when he was talking to someone. Maybe it meant ‘you,’ or was simply a part of the language meant to enunciate referring to someone. 

Holland sighed.

“Γι 'αυτό σ αγαπώ.” The words trembled.

Holland looked up and Kell bit his lip, eyes wide, but the blank look must have shown him that Holland didn’t understand, so he kept going. “Με αφήνεις να μείνω εδώ, παρόλο που'είμαι καταστροφή, και σκέφτεσαι καλύτερα για μένα από εμένα. Το Rhy ήταν το μόνο άλλο άτομο που το έκανε ποτέ.” 

A single tear ran down his face, and Holland brushed it away. “Shh. That’s enough. Go to sleep.”

Kell nodded, sniffed, and closed his eyes, keeping his hand on Holland’s.

Holland let out a breath, looking at Kell’s exhausted face. What had he said? What was that line that had slipped out before he could keep it in? Why had he looked panicked?

He shook his head, and, keeping one hand on Kell’s temple and rubbing his fingers every so often, he opened his book with the other.

_He tried to get to sleep, curled up within his egg-shaped cave, in his nest of sand and the gems from his own tiny hoard. It was a fairly useless attempt. He kept startling awake at the slightest noise, and then spent a dreadfully long time listening wide-eyed to the noises out in the dark…_


	20. Awake and Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the readheads whisper and shade gets thrown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m326LNIRB3k  
> Pompeii by Bastille

Kell opened his eyes and immediately winced at the bit of sun coming through the window. 

His head was killing him, and he lifted one hand to rub at his forehead. “Ugh, ow,” he muttered.

His arm came in contact with something as he tried to roll onto his side to hide under the blankets from the light, and he shifted so he was sitting halfway up on his elbows, squinting. He blinked in confusion.

Holland was sitting in a chair next to him, asleep and slumped over onto the edge of the bed, the book Kell had given him open and facedown on the blankets. Holland’s head was sideways, one arm folded under his head and the other reaching out to hold Kell’s other hand. For once, his skin was warm, so it must have been there for a while.

Kell felt his cheeks flush a little, but he didn’t move away. His head was pounding, and he knew that if he tried to move too quickly, it would get worse.

How did they get there like this? 

He shifted so he was lying down again, and tried to think back. The last thing he could recall was laughing with a woman as he bought a drink. She’d poured him a glass of kaash, which was mildly bitter Maktahn wine, and he’d turned away to talk to someone, and…

And that was it. That was all he could remember. Which was disconcerting, because how did he go from - for once - enjoying himself in the company of people he didn’t know, to waking up with a headache and holding hands with Holland?

Oh, _sanct._ Had he admitted his feelings? What had he said? What couldn’t he remember?

He groaned, lifting his arm to cover his eyes. Why did his head hurt so much? Had he been hit? Was Rhy hungover? When Kell had come to White London before, kaash hadn’t ever done this to him. So what was wrong? And why was Holland next to him?

Kell sighed. He should get up to get some water, or tea, but moving would change his blood flow and he didn’t know if his head could take that right now. Plus, he didn’t want to wake Holland up.

His dilemma was interrupted by the sound of cloth shifting by the door, and he looked up to see Ojka.

“Hello,” he whispered.

She tilted her head at him speculatively. “How are you doing?” she whispered back. 

He blinked. Ojka hadn’t ever been the kind to ask him that before. Did it have something to do with why he couldn’t remember anything?

“My head hurts quite a bit, but I think I’ll live.”

She sucked her teeth for a moment. “Do you need anything?”

Okay, now this was odd. “What happened?”

She shook her head. “I’m not explaining without his help, but he needs the sleep. Do you want anything to occupy your time?” She kept her voice low, and he felt panic start to rise. Ojka was one of the most blunt people he knew. He’d come to know her over this past month, and she had a strong sense of loyalty and good instincts, but she wasn’t one to withhold information unless it was important or she was concerned about whoever she was lying to.

He hesitated. “Water?”

She nodded and rounded the corner, feet silent, the movement of her clothes against each other the only thing to signal where she was.

Kell, now thoroughly awake, sat up and rested his back against the headboard. 

Holland sensed the movement and his head shot up, but he realized his surroundings quickly, and when he saw Kell, he calmed down completely. It was kind of nice to see, that Kell’s presence was something Holland was so comfortable with.

“Hi,” Kell said slowly.

Holland stifled a yawn. “Hello.” He seemed to remember what he was doing there, and he paused. “Are you okay?”

Kell really did not like this. Ojka, and now Holland? They were both people Kell didn’t ever think would be worried about him, so this was only getting increasingly unsettling.

“I’ve got a headache, but apart from that I seem to be fine. How…” He bit his tongue. “How did I get here? And what is this about?”

He lifted the hand that was in Holland’s, not pulling away, but definitely drawing attention to the folded pale fingers that were around his own.

Holland blinked and pulled his hand away, and Kell actually missed it before he remembered what they were talking about. “I don’t know how that happened,” Holland said blankly, voice as steady as ever, “but it might have something to do with you keeping my cold hands up by your head last night.”

Kell raised a brow, and then winced. “Ow. Yeah. Cold probably helped.”

“Apart from that, I only know why your head hurts. I don’t know why your coat was covered in blood, I don’t know why you only spoke in a dead language when you came back from your trip to the market, and I don’t know why you were terrified of sleep to the point that you wanted me to stay.” Holland rubbed his eyes and sat up, leaning back in the chair as he smothered another yawn.

A noise at the door alerted them both to Ojka’s presence. She held a jug and an empty cup, the jug full of evidently cold water, if the perspiration on the glass was anything to go by. “I chilled it,” she said simply, stepping into the room.

Kell took the cup gratefully as she poured the water in, and he held the side of the cup to his head with a small hiss before taking a sip. “Are either of you going to tell me what happened?”

The two shared a worried glance before turning back to Kell. “What’s the last thing you can remember?” Ojka asked.

Kell rubbed his temple, trying to dull the slow, steady throb of pain that seemed insistent on not going anywhere. “Ugh. Getting a drink at the market.” Ojka and Holland shared another glance, and on the two of them, the look of mutual unsettlement was functionally one of barely restrained horror. “What?” Kell asked, scared. “What happened?”

Holland’s hand twitched, and he reached out to hold Kell’s again, eyes locked on the floor. “You may have gotten assaulted.”

“What, by someone who saw my eye or something? Who wanted my magic?”

“No. By someone- who wanted… _you.”_

Kell froze. He didn’t feel any different. He didn’t know why anyone would want him. He wasn’t particularly handsome or anything, he was just tall and lanky and awkward and intimidating. To quote Lila, what in the actual fuck?

“Are you two kidding me?”

Holland squeezed his hand. “...No. The drug you were dosed with is called Lúðekam. Its effects are specifically delirium, memory loss, emotional instability, lowered magical ability, and headaches for as long as it’s in your system.”

Kell swallowed. “Do you know if- if they managed to do it?”

Ojka shook her head. “No, but you had blood on your coat and no wounds when you showed up at the door, so it’s likely that you managed to fight them off before coming back.”

“I-” His chest started to feel tight. He couldn’t breathe. His head hurt. His eyes prickled, and he muffled a cry before pressing his hands to his head.

Holland’s hand went with his, and he pulled Kell into a hesitant hug. “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s very much not.” 

“Hey, shh. Me and Ojka were going to go out and find whoever did. The market doesn’t actually close until the night of the day after tomorrow, so some people there have to have seen something.”

Kell pushed him back to make eye contact, his own eyes wide and fearful. “Don’t leave me here.”

“We won’t. We just wanted to wait until you were okay enough to come with us if you wanted to, since I sure as shit am not letting Ojka go out and do this by herself.”

Kell swallowed and nodded, letting go to rub his eyes. “Dammit.”

Maintaining a concerned shifting of eye contact between the two of them, Ojka sat down on the floor by the bed, legs crossed. “What?” 

He balled up a little, covering his face. “I know neither of you likes me very much, and I’m sorry I brought this here. It shouldn’t be your problem, and now for all I know they know where you two live.”

Holland covered his own face with one hand and Ojka groaned dramatically, falling backwards to lean on her elbows, legs still folded. “Do you want to do this one, Holland, or shall I?” 

Holland sighed. “You got the last one, but I just woke up,” he said, voice tired and muffled. 

“You dealt with literally that whole episode last night, but if you want, we can share,” Ojka replied. 

Kell blinked. “What? What are you talking about? Get what? And what happened last night?” 

Holland appeared to have an internal struggle, his eyes going unfocused and his figure pausing, but Ojka had no such hesitancy. “You cried.”

_“What?”_

Holland rolled his eyes. “Ojka, he didn’t need to know that.” 

She shrugged. “He also doesn’t _need_ to know that you’re the one who took care of him and carried him to bed, but saying it aloud makes you both uncomfortable, which I find funny.”

“Sadist.”

“Loafer.”

Kell scowled. “Would you two shut up?” His voice raised a little, and he winced. “Augh… Sorry.”

Holland turned away from glaring at Ojka at her last word to move closer to Kell. His apology wasn’t verbal, but it was still there in the way he held the cold cup of water to Kell’s head, his brows just the tiny bit furrowed.

Kell took the glass, drinking a little before putting it up against the other side of his head. “Could one of you start tea?” 

Ojka got up without a word, her own apology clear in her expression as well. 

“We’ll find who did this,” Holland promised. 

Kell just closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, 20 chapters!  
> Sorry this is so short and took like a month to get uploaded, I've been dealing with a lot of family stuff lately.


	21. Coats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which redheads squabble and Holland hits Kell in the face  
> (chill, it's funny)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/LDBDPPNxocI  
> Run by Daughter

Kell knew it would be best to leave his coat at the house this time. It still had dried blood from last night, and he didn't want to walk around Makt with the smell of blood on him. People might have started to regain sanity and morals now that no one was starving from a lack of magic in the air, but it was still a bad idea.

On the other hand, he didn’t want to go out without a coat. Partly to cover his black eye with a hood to keep it from being visible, and partly because he as a whole didn’t want to be picked out from the crowd. He had started to get used to being out and about without getting noticed, but he didn’t want to be recognized today. 

He still wanted to go out. He still wanted to know who had done this to him, but he tended to feel too out in the open and _seen_ in the most uncomfortable sense of the word you could think of unless nobody knew who he was or he had an extra layer to slouch into.

He hesitated by the door, folding his arms and trying to look smaller.

Ojka raised a brow at him as she slipped on her tall black red tipped boots. “Είσαι εντάξει, τσάι αγόρι;”

He blinked, surprised, but waved her off. “Δεν είναι τίποτα, θα'είμαι καλά.” He didn’t expect her to notice, let alone care.

Holland gave them both an irritated look. “Nennir þú að tala á mállýsku sem ég þekki?”

“Heh, sorry,” Kell said, switching to Maktahn. 

Ojka gave Kell another look, standing up. “Are you sure?” 

Kell ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, I am. Don’t worry about it.”

He had told them he was going with them, and he had no intention of backing out, but he was having a hard time getting up the nerve to actually walk out the door. 

“What are you avoiding now?” Holland asked as he buttoned his coat.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“You think everything you worry about is stupid.” 

Kell scowled. “Shut up.”

“Never, you self-sacrificing dolt,” Holland said, voice equal parts mild irritation and amusement. 

Kell leaned against the wall, aiming to look casual as he tried to change the subject. “That sounds almost endearing, Holland.” 

Ojka smirked. “It just might be,” she mused, slipping a knife into her belt.

Holland rolled his eyes. “Just spill it, Kell,” he said.

Kell hugged his elbows. “Er skan.”

“No, it’s not nothing, tell us.”

Kell glared, digging his nails into his arms. “Fine. I don’t feel comfortable going without a jacket, I- I feel weird about it, but mine has blood all over it, and I don’t have another one.”

Holland rolled his eyes again as he turned down the hallway to the stairs. “I told you to bring your own clothes.”

“My one coat is like thirty, you know!” Kell called after him, Ojka snickering behind him.

Holland ignored them.

Kell slid down the wall, pulling his legs up so he could put his arms on them and cover his face as he bowed his head onto his knees. “Why did I tell him?”

Ojka looked down at him. “Because you’re starting to open up to him.”

“But I don’t exactly… _do_ that.”

“Neither does he, _ranes strast_ with _viris chas.”_ She sat down next to him, about an arm’s length away. 

How did she know how far away he tended to need people to be in order to feel comfortable?

“Besides,” she continued. “Δεν του αρέσει να είναι ειλικρινής μαζί σας, και το κάνει ούτως ή άλλως. Get over yourself.”

He glared. “Oh, are we using multiple languages at once? Fine, _fera ira hosna._ I can do this all day, and I didn’t cheat with a language rune, let’s go.”

_“Nas.”_

“Yes, _pilse.”_

 _“Tac,_ rude. Why must you hurt me so with your words?” She was grinning at him, and he shot a short cocky smile back. 

“Your hair is freakishly φωτεινό κόκκινο, _arna.”_ He twisted the last word so it sounded less like a word of respect, and instead an insult. A mockery.

 _“Rensa tav, res naster,”_ she countered, doing the same thing and mussing up his hair.

 _“Sarenach!”_ Kell shouted, smacking her hand away.

“Never!” She lunged at him, tackling him to the side.

Kell rolled away from her and came up in a crouch, ready to jump at her, kind of enjoying himself. He didn’t get to fight often, and without magic he couldn’t really go out into the street and break up fights unless he showed off his eye, which was still a risk, so this kind of stupid roughhousing was something he liked. 

Holland came down the stairs with something slung over one shoulder, giving them both a mildly disdainful look. “If you knock anything over, you have to clean it up yourself,” he said.

Kell tried to hide a sheepish smile and got to his feet, Ojka doing the same behind him.

She caught a glance of Kell’s expression, and moved into his space with a gasp, apparently forgetting the arms length she had been using before, and he backed up awkwardly. “...Yes?”

“Do I see a smile?” She asked. 

He scowled, previous humor now irritation. “No.”

“But there was! I saw it! Holland, did you see it?”

Kell looked to Holland, asking him to make her shut up with his eyes, but Holland only threw what he was carrying. It hit Kell in the face and fell into his arms, and he glared. The thing Holland had brought down the stairs was a coat, a little big for Kell around the shoulders, but still something he could slump into.

“Was that necessary?” Kell kept up the act of irritation, but on the inside he was baffled by the fact that Holland had brought him something to make him less uncomfortable.

“No, but it was funny,” said Holland, face and voice as mild as ever.

Ojka snickered. “I’m kind of proud of that,” she said.

“It is difficult to do,” Holland said agreeably. “Even Rhy had trouble with it.”

“What?” Kell asked.

Holland said nothing, but Ojka relented. “It’s hard to make you smile, and I got you to do it by throwing insults at your face in your own language and then attacking you,” she said.

Kell made a face. “I smile.”

“When?” asked Holland conversationally, facing the door with his back to the two of them as he put on some gloves.

“When _you’re_ not being an _asshole,”_ Kell shot.

Holland turned around, arms folded across his chest, and he raised an eyebrow. “When have I not been an asshole to you? Besides, I brought you a coat, so shut up.”

Kell rolled his eyes. “You did, which I thank you for,” he said, slipping the fabric over his shoulders. “But your insatiable need to be an obnoxious, passive aggressive _twit_ is the reason me and Ojka are your only two friends.”

Holland said nothing, and Kell sort of shrunk in on himself once he realized what he’d said.

Ojka glanced between the two of them, air now a little tense and awkward. “Alright, I think that’s enough of that, you two. Can we go now? I think I might know where to start.”

Kell sighed. “Yes, let me put on my shoes first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, 500 reads!  
> I know it's not really a lot, but this is my first work on Ao3, so I thank you all :)


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